In the Middle of the Night
by Harper Penn
Summary: In the middle of the night, Cuddy awakens to find House dealing with his pain. Angst abound, and we've gotten really deep into it now. Huddy established relationship. **No longer a oneshot, due to a not so quiet demand from reviewers. On... vacation.
1. Chapter 1

**Nice little oneshot I found on my computer. I wrote it a while back and just thought I'd go ahead and post it.**

House was wrenched out of a fitful sleep unmercifully by a spasm in his leg.

He arched forwards in an oft repeated action, automatically. A cramp was seizing his leg, working its way into a spasm. It hurt like a _bitch._ He frantically tried to rub the cramp away before it got worse, biting his lip at the pain.

When the bed rocked gently under him, he remembered he wasn't alone.

"House?" Cuddy asked sleepily, her voice thick with grogginess.

House paused for a second, trying to steady himself. "Hm?"

"Why're you awake?"

"Gotta pee. Go back to sleep."

"… Kay."

Cuddy turned over and fell back to sleep, not ever having fully woken up in the first place.

House stared at the ceiling, gripping his thigh and closing his eyes. His breath was coming faster, in hitched little exclamations of pain.

Without warning, the leg launched into a spasm, sending screaming lightening bolts of pain into his body. He practically went through the ceiling, biting his cheek to keep from screaming out loud. Cuddy didn't need to see this.

On days like this, he'd have been reaching for the morphine. Now, of course, that wasn't an option. He was clean. For a year now.

He had what he wanted. A friendship with Wilson, a stable job, and a relationship with the woman he'd loved since he'd first set eyes on her. He wouldn't throw it away, even it meant he was in pain every waking moment of his life. Even if it meant that he'd be in agony all night long, wouldn't sleep, and would hardly be able to walk in the morning.

He felt a tear coursing down his cheek. Dammit, it _hurt. _

There was a light touch on his face, catching the tear.

"House?"

He felt like sobbing. Now, not only was he in a mind numbing amount of pain, but his girlfriend was going to watch him, too.

She sounded wide awake now, and like she was trying not to panic. "Greg, what's wrong?"

He knew better than to open his mouth. He didn't want to vomit all over the love of his life.

Cuddy stroked his hair back, putting her forehead against his. "House. Your leg?"

He gave her a silent nod. Then the pain ramped up a few notches, and he could do nothing but make himself remember to breathe.

For a moment, the pain abated. It was like wave, ramping up and coming in, then sliding out and fading, if only for a moment. He opened his eyes almost fearfully, afraid of what he'd find in hers.

They were big and deep, looking at him with concern. "You better now?"

The leg was aching savagely, and would probably end up acting up again before the night was over. Hell, it would probably act up again in the next few seconds.

He finally allowed himself to speak, hating how weak his voice sounded even to himself. "Yeah."

Cuddy furrowed her eyebrows, not totally buying it. "What's your pain level?"

He hated this. He hated his lover treating him like he was a misbehaving patient. "I'm fine, Lisa."

"House."

"I'm fine!"

His leg twitched, threatening to scream and make him eat his words. He forced himself to relax. "Just go back to sleep, please."

Cuddy shook her head slowly, turning on the lamp on the bed side table. "You aren't okay. Don't lie to me, Greg."

He looked down, away from her, feeling almost ashamed. "There's nothing you can do. Please, just…"

He tried to continue, but the pain in his leg ramped up to super nova, and he could only gasp.

Cuddy's alarmed shriek only barely pierced through. "House!"

"I… it… its… f… uhg…"

He couldn't even put a damn sentence together.

He felt Cuddy's warm hands on his leg. "I'm going to try to rub it out, okay?" she said, more than asked.

Without pausing for an okay, she gently but firmly kneaded into the tense muscle. "I… mmh…" House said, grunting in pain, unable to stop the tears from running down his face. "Hurts… Cud… Cuddy. Hurts."

"I know it hurts, House. I know."

"AH!" he said sharply, jerking as she hit a particularly sore spot. Her hands froze for a moment before continuing on. "Mmh. I'm… pa… pathet…ic." He said miserably, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"No, you aren't, House," Cuddy said soothingly, still working hard on the tense muscle. "Any one else would be screaming."

"Want… to…"

"But you aren't. So shut up and let me help."

He obliged, only making sharp, pained noises every so often. When the cramp finally, finally began to ease, he fell back onto the bed, exhausted.

"Thank you…" he mumbled, already drifting off. The pain took so much out of him. "I love…"

He fell asleep.

Cuddy ran her hand through his sweat soaked hair, smiling sadly. "I love you too, House."

The next morning, Cuddy woke up a few minutes before her alarm. She reached over carefully, and unplugged it, still tuckered out from last night. Normally, she got up almost an hour before House, for her morning yoga, breakfast, and Rachel. Plus, she just required more time to get ready.

Since she and House had been dating, that was the routine they'd held to. Really, the only time they were together was during the night and after work.

Today, however, Cuddy decided that she was going to wait for House to get up before her. She wanted to see how he was doing- that is, how he was really doing, and not how he told her he was doing.

House woke up about the time he normally did, slowly opening his eyes. She watched him carefully through a slit in her own, just open enough to see, and not enough for him to see she was awake.

He registered surprise that she was still asleep, then his eyes softened. His eyes flickered to her unplugged alarm, then to his leg.

Then an expression she'd never seen on him before crossed his face.

Guilt.

He was actually guilty for keeping her up. She watched him choose to let her sleep, shaking his head.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he leaned up and uncovered himself, staring down. He seemed reluctant to move his legs.

With a practiced motion, he used both hands to move his right leg off the side of the bed, his left coming down to join it. He stretched his arms and back, arching his neck and letting everything pop itself out.

Then he reached out and grabbed the cane, his shoulders seeming to slump. He planted it firmly and slowly stood, all his weight on his left leg. He waivered for a moment, unsteady, and his left hand reached out to the bed to steady him.

He sighed and tried to take a step forward with his left leg.

Cuddy forced herself not to cry out when his right collapsed under the weight. His hand shot out and supported him on the bed in what looked like a painfully practiced movement. His breath came in short, pained shots as he pulled himself up with just his left hand.

He was back on the bed now, massaging his leg with both hands, his head bowed. After a long few minutes, he got back up, hesitantly trying another step. This time, his leg held him, but just barely. She could see it trembling under the strain, and how much weight he placed on the cane. He gripped the door frame as he went into the bathroom, then the counter as he closed the door.

She let loose a breath she'd been holding, and sat up. House had just revealed more to her in that painful ten minutes than he'd ever said to her in the twenty years they'd known each other.

She'd known he was in pain, oh sure. She was a doctor; she knew what that operation had done to him. But the harsh reality of his disability often slipped her mind. Day to day, he was a huge presence in her life, and a commanding one at that. He almost never intentionally called attention to his pain, even less so after Mayfield.

Even after nearly a year of dating, she'd never even seen how long it took him to get out of bed in the morning.

Cuddy was ashamed of herself. How often had House had attacks like that in the past, and she hadn't noticed? He didn't seemed surprised or frightened by it, almost like he'd found it normal. She felt slightly sick.

When he finished showering, she was already up and taking care of Rachel, talking to her while she chopped up an apple for her to munch on. He sat in a kitchen chair wearily, sending her a quick glance to make sure she wasn't watching before he rubbed his thigh again.

Cuddy decided not to beat around the bush.

"House," she began, still cutting and not looking up. "How often does that happen?"

He froze, staring at her. No. She wasn't playing the game right. He and Wilson had done it for years; Wilson had been there when he most needed him, and hadn't mentioned it when he was relatively okay. Wilson was remarkable about keeping his mouth shut, except when it came to the drugs.

Now that the drugs were gone, House was afraid to tell the truth about his pain levels. He was sure that anyone he told would immediately think he was drug seeking.

He wasn't. He was just tired of being in pain.

Cuddy stopped cutting the apple, turning to look at him. He stared back at her silently, his eyes hesitant.

Cuddy was pretty sure she knew the thoughts that were going through his head. "Answer me, House, and answer me honestly. I'm not going to judge you."

His eyes were still suspicious, and hers softened. "I swear."

He looked down, like he was ashamed to admit any potential weakness on his part. "Maybe once or twice a month. Not that often."

She sat down, careful to keep her face blank. Rachel was silent in the highchair, like she knew this was an important moment for them. Cuddy took the moment while he was looking down to really study him.

He'd thinned, since Mayfield. Grayed, too. It was like he was imploding before her eyes, and she hated it.

"Seriously, House. Since Mayfield, how have your pain levels been?"

He still didn't meet her eyes. "… High."

"A number? I mean, on a daily basis."

He swallowed, closing his eyes. His hand gripped his thigh. "Six or seven."

"_Consistently?"_ Cuddy exclaimed, dismayed.

He visibly flinched, sure she was upset with _him._ "Pretty much baseline. On a good day."

She studied him. "House. You haven't gotten below a six in nearly a year?"

He finally met her eyes, sadness and distrust in his. "I knew you wouldn't believe me."

She felt tears in her eyes. "House, I do."

His eyes widened, shocked. "What?"

"I don't doubt that you're in pain. I just didn't realize it was quite that bad."

He warily watched her, looking for any signs of doubt on her. Finding none, he relaxed slightly.

She reached out across the table, taking his hand. He allowed it, still looking into her eyes. "Maybe you should see a pain specialist, House." She suggested softly.

He looked away again. "Wilson prescribes for me. He's my proxy. You're my doctor. There's no reason to see anyone else, you're both competent."

She shook her head. "We obviously aren't doing a very good job, House. I think seeing someone who doesn't know your history would be good for you."

He looked up sharply, hurt. "I'm not looking for vicodin, Cuddy. I'm clean and I plan on staying that way."

She smiled. "I know, and I don't doubt you at all," she replied soothingly, watching him relax slightly. "I just meant that we have a prior, biased opinion on you that are obviously based on some false assumptions. An outside eye would be good."

He furrowed his brow. "False assumptions?"

She gave him a long look, filled with love and absent of pity. "Does even Wilson know the process you go through to get up every morning?"

He paled visibly, taking his hand away. "I- I thought you were asleep!"

She shook her head. "I had a theory and wanted to test it. Is falling like that normal?"

He closed his eyes, looking a bit sick. "I don't want to have this conversation with you."

"Too bad, it's happening. I repeat, is that normal?"

He shuddered, rubbing his thigh. "Not every morning but yeah, I'm used to it."

She stood and sat closer to him, touching his left side with her right. "That's just what I mean. You feel the need to hide things like that from us, but from a stranger there should be no limitations."

He met her eyes, gripping her tightly, finally seeming to come to terms with the idea. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"It should be what _you _want, House. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

A slight smile curved his lips, and she quickly amended the statement. "Except clinic duty, of course. And the odd donor party."

He buried his face in her hair, sighing. "I've actually forgotten what it feels like to not be in pain, Cuddy," he said wonderingly, his eyes distant. "And I think it's killing me."

She closed her eyes. "I'll set you up an appointment today, then."

His exhale in her ear seemed to agree.

**Reviews make the world go 'round! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Harper here. Originally, this story was intended to be a oneshot, ending with chapter one. However, do to popular demand in the reviews, I've decided to go ahead and add more to the story. **

The next morning was Sunday, both their day off. Cuddy woke early, dismayed to see that House was not in bed next to her.

She listened hard, and realized she could hear the shower running. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was barely even six.

Since when did House get up that early? Ever?

With a sick feeling of sadness, she came to the quick conclusion that he was now forcing himself to wake up before her to avoid her seeing him go through his morning process.

She sighed. She'd made the appointment as promised. It was today, that afternoon in fact. House hadn't said another word about it, and had come in late from work, falling into the bed beside her and falling asleep without so much as a hello.

She wasn't sure if he was upset with her, or nervous, or a combination of the two. She hadn't had a chance to talk to him and find out.

She was making breakfast by the time he got out of the shower, a towel around his neck. He was dressed in a faded pair of jeans and one of his ACDC t shirts.

As he sat down at the table, yawning, she carried Rachel over. Transferring her daughter from her hip to his open lap, she ran a hand through his hair affectionately.

He looked at her evenly but silently, bouncing Rachel up and down. She giggled, waving her chubby toddler arms around.

House looked worried, the little lines around his eyes even more pronounced than usual, but he didn't look upset with her. She couldn't help but sigh in relief. She'd known what she was risking, knocking on his walls yesterday, but she felt that the potential benefits outweighed the cons.

Cuddy returned to her cooking, choosing her words carefully. "Marina's coming by in an hour or so. The appointment's at one."

House grunted in response.

"I was thinking we could go out; eat some lunch, before that."

"Okay."

"Where do you want to eat?"

He was silent for a long moment. She turned to find him scrutinizing her, blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

He grinned suddenly. "You're afraid I'm mad at you, aren't you Cuddy?"

She turned around, hiding her red face. What was she, a high school girlfriend?

His voice was suddenly softer, more caring. "I'm not. We're okay."

She smiled softly, turning around to hug him. "I'm glad. It's just… you never open up about this kind of thing, Greg. I was afraid…"

"I'm glad you did what you did, I think," he replied softly, nuzzling Rachel with his stubble. She giggled and squirmed in his grip, batting inefficiently at his face. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have done that."

Cuddy shivered at the implications of his words.

"Well, we're going to change some things. I don't want you in pain, Greg."

"I know you don't," he affirmed, grabbing her with one arm and pulling her down for a quick kiss.

Though the lunch, House was silent. The diagnostition was fidgety and nervous, bouncing his leg up and down, tapping his fork on the side of his plate, biting his lower lip. He was just a bundle of nervous ticks.

Cuddy reached a hand over the table, placing it on his. He'd hardly eaten a bite of the pasta he'd ordered, but he had drank rather a lot of the water.

"Greg…" Cuddy began, watching him forcibly give her his attention. "You need to eat."

"I'm not really hungry."

Cuddy looked him up and down. He'd always been rather lean, but he'd lost more weight than was even close to healthy in the past year. "You're going to dry up and blow away," she murmured, only half joking.

He sighed and passive aggressively stabbed a noodle, eating it silently.

When Cuddy was finished, she watched House move his food around his plate for ten minutes more before she gave in, paying for the meal and exiting. They headed for the car, House, for once, sliding in the passenger seat without protest.

Cuddy let him fiddle with the radio as they drove to the Chronic Pain Center, relaxing in relief when he finally settled on a smooth jazz station. She tossed him a glance; he was staring out the passenger window, his hand methodically rubbing his leg in a unconscious motion.

"Does that help?" Cuddy couldn't help but ask.

House looked at her questioningly. "Hm?"

"Does rubbing your leg like that help?"

House glanced down, his brows arching as if he hadn't realized he was doing it. "It… sort of helps, I guess."

Cuddy blinked. She wasn't used to hearing House sound so unsure about _anything. _"Sort of?"

"Well, sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't. I don't realize I'm doing it a lot of the time. Habit, I guess."

Cuddy winced. Developing a habit that had to do with easing pain wasn't something anyone should have to experience.

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Cuddy parked as close to the door as she could without grabbing a handicap spot; House refused to pull it out of the glove box.

"No," he'd said firmly, when she'd asked for it. "I'll walk."

"You didn't have an issue with a handicap spot at the hospital," she pointed out, remembering the wheelchair battle he'd had with her one week.

House grinned. "That, my dear Eleanor, was a matter of principle."

Cuddy suppressed a smile and shook her head, sliding out of the car and stretching out the kinks in her back. It'd been a long ride.

House took longer getting out of the car, testing his weight out on the pavement before gingerly standing, one hand on the hood of his vehicle to steady him. Cuddy's mouth twisted in sympathy; long drives were hard on his leg. However, she was careful to keep House from seeing such sympathy; he had a tendency to interpret such gestures of love and affection as pity. And House and pity did not mix well.

Together, they entered the doors of the pain clinic. Much like a child, House found a seat in one of the comfortably padded, red waiting chairs while Cuddy filled out forms at the desk.

Cuddy, when she was finished, took a seat next to her boyfriend. His blue eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor, his left leg jumping up and down in a frantic pattern.

"House, it's okay."

He rolled his eyes, but did not look at her. "I'm not scarred of the doctor, mommy. I'm a big boy."

Contrary to his words, House did look nervous. His eyes continued to roam around the room until his name was called.

"Dr. Gregory House?" A nurse in green scrubs questioned, her long, blonde hair swinging from her ponytail as she stuck her head out of the door.

Cuddy rose with his as he stood, taking his arm in her hand. "House. Do you mind if I go?"

House's eyes found hers, surprised by the question. He'd just assumed that she'd barge right along weather he wanted her to or not, but it seemed that she was genuinely waiting for an answer before following him.

Somehow, that made him want her to come along much more than before.

"By all means. Come watch the doctor poke me with sharp things; I wouldn't want you to miss out on that."

His words were harsh, but she could see in his eyes that he wasn't overly serious. She smiled slightly and took his hand, following him in the doors to a patient room.

The nurse smiled brilliantly at House, who did not return the gesture. To her credit, her expression didn't falter. She simply turned and motioned for them to follow them in.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," she informed them brightly, shutting the door to the exam room.

Cuddy sat in the lone chair on the side, leaving House to perch on the side of the bed. She could see his discomfort at being on the other side of the doctor-patient relationship for once.

"Let's hope this doctor doesn't have your clinic standards on the definition of 'shortly'," Cuddy joked, earning a small, strained smirk from House.

Fortunately, this doctor seemed to take his job seriously. Not five minutes later, the door was pushed open by a short, balding Asian man, with a kind smile and rectangular glasses that magnified his brown eyes. Unlike House, this doctor had apparently found time to don a lab coat.

"Dr. House. I'm Dr. Yung," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake. For once, House found it in him to shake the man's hand, as his cane was already leaning up against the bed and out of his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person. Your article on kidney failure last month was phenomenal."

House let out a startled blink, and Cuddy shook her head, grinning. House just didn't seem to grasp that every article he bothered to write was immediately turned to gold on its release. House was well respected, if not well liked, in the medical world.

Dr. Yung moved on quickly, shaking Cuddy's hand and turning back to House. "I'd welcome you to our CP center, but it's unlikely that you feel very happy about being here. Let's start with a basic history."

House and the doctor talked back and forth about any serious illnesses House had had up until the point of his infarction. At that point, Dr. Yung looked up.

"So, tell me about the infarction."

House sighed. "I had a clot in my right leg. The pain started off when I was golfing, and I thought I'd just pulled a muscle. Turns out it was an infarction."

"Says here that it was not diagnosed until three days after the initial symptoms."

House let a brief bit of anger pass over his eyes. "No, it wasn't. No one caught it until it was… too late."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the doctor said sympathetically. "You must have been in a lot of pain."

"Yeah."

He pushed on. "So the muscled ended up being debrided That's quite a bit of missing thigh muscle there."

House's lip crept up into a snarl, but he visibly controlled himself. "I didn't want to amputate, and opted to be put into a medically induced coma while the blood worked it self out. However… it was decided after I was already out that they would go half way and remove the dead muscle from my leg before it potentially infected the rest of me."

Yung frowned. "You could very well have died had that not been done, Dr. House."

House shrugged angrily. "I knew the risks. I certainly didn't want to have to deal with… this…" he said, gesturing to his leg and trailing off.

Yung wisely did not press the issue. "Okay, so obviously that debridment is leaving you in a great deal of pain, especially since you seem to be walking on said leg. What medications are you on now?"

House answered without hesitation. "Ibuprofen."

Yung blinked, visibly startled. "You… that's all?"

House nodded, his gaze elsewhere."

"Well… ahem." Dr. Yung cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "How much, on average, do you take per day?"

House made eye contact for the first time in a while, twisting his mouth. "About twice the advised dose per day."

"Does it… work for you?"

House scoffed. "I'm here, aren't I? No, it doesn't work for me."

"I shouldn't have to tell you you're putting yourself at risk for stomach ulcers. Judging by your weight, I'm assuming you don't take them on a full stomach as advised."

House rolled his eyes. "If I ate a full meal every time I popped a pill, I'd be fat as a house. And no, that's not a pun."

A flicker of a smile passed over Yung's face.

"Okay. On average, what is your pain level. Scale of one to ten."

House sighed. He _hated _that question. "For the past year or so it's been at a consistent six to seven, baseline."

Yung didn't seem surprised by the answer, but his brow furrowed at the time constraint. "Why just the last year?"

House twitched. "I was previously…"

He trailed off, and took a deep breath. "I was previously on vicodin."

"Why did you stop?"

The question seemed to take House by surprise. Most people he'd encountered had expressed outrage at his medication.

"I… was addicted. Severely addicted. The side effects were strong enough to convince me I needed to get off."

Cuddy shuddered. That was the understatement of the year."

Yung nodded. "Vicodin. That worked for you?"

"It kept it base line about a four. Most of the time. And I could work through it, it didn't make my mind hazy, which is what I was going for."

Yung made a note on his chart. "Good to know. I'm assuming, though, that you don't want any morphine derivatives in your pain management program."

House shuddered visibly, his eyes clouding over for a moment. He _never _wanted to go through that hell again. "No. I don't."

Yung nodded.

"Okay, then. Can you tell me about any episodes of breakthrough pain you've experienced in the last year?"

A flicker of a sarcastic smile flashed over House's face. "Once or twice a month."

"Excuse me?" Yung exclaimed, thrown by the answer.

"I have an episode, on average, once or twice a month."

"What is the level of your pain on these episodes?"

Cuddy shivered at the memory of his pale, shaking features that night.

House glanced at her before answering, sighing and lowering his eyes. "About… a nine to ten. Easily."

Yung cringed in sympathy. It wasn't hard to imagine. "What do you do, during these episodes, and about how long do they last?"

House gave a mirthless laugh. "There isn't much I can do. Pretty much just… try not to scream. Try to massage it out. Put heat on it, if possible. And on average, it lasts about eight hours."

Yung shook his head. "You have no sort of emergency medication?"

"No."

Yung was starting to get vaguely angry at whoever was this man's usual doctor. "That's _not _acceptable. Pain like that could easily kill you, Dr. House."

House's eyes grew haunted. "I know."

**And I end it here for today. The next chapter will pick up directly after this one, it was just getting a bit to long. Reviews make the world go 'round!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Last chapter, I got some comments about Dr. Yung. I just thought I'd let you all know that he's very much based off of my own doctor. **

Yung gave House a half smile, leaning forward. Cuddy was relieved that House had refrained from mocking the man's intelligence. It seemed that he actually respected Dr. Yung so far.

"Okay, Dr. House. I'm going to need a list of prior medications that you've tried and haven't found effective. Those, along with any morphine derivatives, will be crossed off the list of potential medications. Do you have such a list?"

Cuddy started to redden. She'd forgotten to tell House about the fact that he'd need records. However, that wasn't her main concern. She was fairly sure House had never tried any other form of medication, let alone kept records of it.

That's why she was extremely shocked when House pulled a binder out of his backpack and handed it to Dr. Yung.

She tried to wipe the astonishment off her face so as not to embarrass herself in front of Dr. Yung, but she was _definitely _going to be having a serious conversation with House later.

Yung showed no such surprise at the binder. He'd seen similar behavior in other chronic pain patients, and he'd expected nothing less from the famous Dr. House.

"Is there anything else?"

Yung nodded, somewhat apologetically. "We need a urine sample, and a nurse is going to measure your height and weight, as well as blood pressure. They're going to take a blood sample as well."

On cue, that same nurse stuck her head in the door. "Dr. House? Come with me."

House got up stiffly, leaning on his cane. The nurse continued on, politely ignoring his silence. "We'll get this done in a jiffy."

"I'll be waiting here, Carla," Yung informed her. The nurse raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth, but then she realized her patient was leaving her behind. Cuddy stifled a laugh as Nurse Carla hurried to keep up with a man with a limp.

Yung turned to Cuddy as soon as the door shut.

"Let me guess. Girlfriend?"

Cuddy nodded her affirmation, still getting used to the idea herself. "Right on the money."

"Right. I need you to tell me anything he didn't. Any allergies, recent traumatic injuries, etc."

Cuddy wracked her brains for allergies, but could remember none. However, she had plenty of injuries to share with him.

She pulled House's file out of her tote, handing it over. "That's everything past the infarction."

Yung blinked. "Thank you for coming… prepared."

Cuddy laughed. "I'm not just his girlfriend. I'm his boss too."

Yung's eyes widened in recognition. "Ah! So you must be Dr. Cuddy. PPTH is doing well, congratulations."

She could almost see his perspective of her shifting from clueless girlfriend to intelligent, informed doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Yung."

"Now that I know you'll have an idea of what I'm asking for, I've got some questions."

Yung pushed up his glasses with his middle finger, inhaling deeply. "How would you describe Dr. House's response to pain? That of a normal individual?"

Cuddy shook her head without even having to think about it. "No. He just… he doesn't react like anyone else would to pain. He's got one hell of a poker face, that's for sure."

"How about his ambulatory status? With that much muscle missing, he _shouldn't_ be able to walk. It's a miracle that he can even stand."

Cuddy shook her head. "He refuses to use a wheel chair. He worked hard to be able to walk again after the infarction. I think he's afraid if he uses the chair for any length of time he'll lose the muscle he's built up there."

"So I'm assuming that suggesting the chair or crutches would not be met with enthusiasm."

Cuddy had a sudden, vivid mental picture of House smacking Yung directly in the face with his cane. "No, I don't think he would."

Yung sighed, like he didn't really want to say what he was about to. "Being a doctor, Dr. Cuddy, you _are _aware of what a large disability this is. Dr. House has to think out every movement, every step, of every day. Is getting up to answer the phone worth the pain afterwards? It being his right leg, is driving worth it? You have to completely understand the pain he goes through, and make allowances for him."

Cuddy was getting defensive, but she consciously pushed her bristles back down. Dr. Yung was just doing his job.

He continued on, locking eyes with her. "I get the impression that Dr. House is a very proud man. You need to make sure he feels secure enough with you to share whether or not he is in pain. Do you feel that you have his confidence?"

Cuddy began to nod… but then stopped. Isn't that why they were here? Because she'd seen, without his consent or even knowledge, what he went through daily? He hadn't _tried _to show her. He'd tried _not _to.

"I'm… I'm not sure I do," she confessed, looking down. "I've… when he was addicted in the past… I wasn't exactly… supportive."

Cuddy reddened. Suddenly, she was ashamed of herself. "I think he's afraid we're going to accuse him of drug seeking."

Yung raised his eyebrows at her. "Dr. Cuddy, I don't mean to sound disrespectful. But there _is _a difference between addiction and _dependence. _You understand that, correct?"

Cuddy frowned. "Greg _was _addicted to the medication, Dr. Yung. He couldn't stop without severe detoxing, and excessive use was leading him to…"

She trailed off. If House hadn't told him how he'd hallucinated, Cuddy wasn't going to either. "Was leading him to severe side effects. _He _made the decision to get clean, on his own."

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm not denying that he may have been overmedicating. But that probably wasn't his fault. People in pain tend to try to _stop _their pain. And the fact that he detoxed doesn't necessarily mean he was _addicted, _per say. It's a natural reaction that the body has, no matter what. If the body becomes used to a certain amount of medication, and that medication is stopped, it's going to react violently."

Cuddy slowly nodded. "I suppose I understand your point."

"I certainly hope so."

House came back in a few minutes later, sitting down on the bed again. His arm was wrapped up with blue tape from the blood draw.

"Okay, Dr. House. I have a few more questions, then we're done for the day, and I'll call you tomorrow morning with a list of medications I'd like you to try."

House held his gaze evenly. Cuddy's stomach twisted; House seemed tired and beat. He looked like he just wanted to nap right there on the bed.

"First question. While you were on vicodin, did you ever experience breakthrough pain that could not be controlled by your usual dose? And if so, how often?"

House glanced at Cuddy, his eyes hesitant. She smiled at him reassuringly, trying to convey her support without words.

"A few…" he took a deep breath, studying the ceiling. "Yeah. I had plenty of breakthrough episodes. Maybe once a month."

"So, about the same amount as now. In comparison, how bad were those compared to these?"

House's mouth twisted. "How do you think? At least then, I was on a medication that actually _worked. _They weren't nearly as bad. Then, though, I had different standards on what _pain _was."

Yung nodded thoughtfully. "What did you do during those episodes?"

House closed his eyes briefly. "If it was a work day, I sucked it up. If I was off… I self proscribed morphine."

Cuddy swallowed at the admission.

"Did the morphine work?"

"… Most of the time, yeah."

"Can you tell me a situation in which it was not effective?"

"It… look, it was always effective. Just with varying levels. Sometimes it just knocked me out, but others, it just took it back down to a bit above baseline."

Yung just nodded, not passing judgment. "Good to know. Now, are there outside, contributing factors to the level of your leg pain?"

House scoffed. "Of course. If I strain it by walking too much, if I fall or hit it. If the weather sucks. Hell, if I'm just too cold."

House looked out the window, glaring at the sunny, bright day outside like it had done him a personal wrong. "It also seems to increase with any sort of… emotional… pain or stress I'm experiencing."

Yung nodded. "Understandable. Is that all?"

House blinked. He'd expected Yung to psychoanalyze that last statement to death, but the man just skipped right over it like he heard it every day. "Uh… no. That's pretty much it. Sometimes it just cramps up for no reason I can think of."

"Mm hmm. Okay, next question. How are your sleeping patterns, Dr. House?"

House grimaced. "Not… good. I'm basically an insomniac."

"With the level of pain you're experiencing, that's understandable. However, not getting enough sleep is stressing out your system, which I'm sure you're aware of. I'm going to prescribe you a sleep aid to help you sleep soundly through the night. You'd be surprised how much it'll help."

House just nodded. His sleeping patterns were shoddy at best, and he knew it. "Fair enough."

"Okay, how's your appetite? I ask because most of our patients experience nausea and loss of appetite from the constant strain on their system. By my judgment, you're pretty underweight."

"I don't… have a regular schedule. To be honest, sometimes I just get so caught up in whatever I'm doing that I just forget to eat."

"It's important that you make a conscious effort to have regular meals, Dr. House."

House nodded, then grimaced. "I find it hard to hold anything down if the pain is bad."

Yung nodded. "That's only to be expected. I'll write you a prescription for anti-nausea meds as well, to be taken when you need them."

House didn't argue with Yung, something Cuddy was amazed and gratified to see.

"We're pretty much done here, Dr. House," Yung began, but House cut him off.

"Just House, please. That's what everyone else calls me. If you keep putting that pesky D-R- dot in front I might get full of myself."

Yung blinked, and then smiled. "Okay. House, we're pretty much done, but I want to give you some suggestions."

House raised his eyebrows. He seriously doubted the man had anything to say that he hadn't heard a thousand times already.

"First off, though I know you're against the idea, a wheelchair would probably bring down your pain levels, and lessen the strain you're putting on your right shoulder and left leg and hip."

House narrowed his eyes. "No."

Yung shrugged. "I figured. I have to say I'm impressed that you've managed to stay ambulatory, House. It must have taken a considerable amount of work."

House blinked rapidly. It _had _taken a lot of work, and a lot of painful PT. "Yeah, it did. And I don't plan on letting my leg atrophy, so, thanks, but no thanks."

Yung nodded. "Might I say, though, that alternating a week on and off your feet would be better for you than what you are doing now."

House stared him down for a long moment, and then shrugged. "I'll think about it."

Cuddy was flabbergasted that he'd even _think _about staying in a wheelchair for any amount of time, if there wasn't a parking spot to be gained by it.

"Another suggestion. Keep a pain diary. Start it tonight, and we'll continue it with the medications I prescribe."

House frowned at the idea of writing down his innermost feelings in a book. "I…"

He sighed at Cuddy's warning look. "Fine."

"And last, but not least, House," Yung said, standing up. "Let others know when you're hurting. I get the feeling you don't very often. Keeping that kind of thing inside is not healthy."

For once in his life, House didn't call the man on his psychobabble. Instead, he nodded begrudgingly, standing in turn.

Side by side, they made an odd pair. House was much, much taller than the stout, Asian doctor. Even leaning on his cane, he towered over him. "I'll call you first thing Sunday with our first batch of meds. Remember, it's a trial and error process."

They shook hands, and House strode out the door quickly, seemingly eager to escape. Cuddy started to follow.

"Dr. Cuddy," Yung called. "Just one last thing."

"Of course."

"I'm glad you got him in here when you did. A constant six…"

Yung trailed off, staring off into space. He shook his head after a moment, coming back to reality. "I'm surprised he hasn't relapsed, or, frankly, tried to end it permanently. You've got a man to be proud of, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy swallowed, nodding. "I know. And I am. Thank you."

Yung smiled. "Thank _you._"

Cuddy hurried out after House, catching up to him and weaving an arm through his.

"What were you two ladies gossiping about?" House questioned, only half joking.

Cuddy shrugged. "Nothing. He wanted to be sure we knew when he was going to call."

House seemed to accept her explanation, and together, they got into the car and drove home, stopping at the pharmacy to pick up the two prescriptions Yung had already given them.

**I _do _plan on continuing, but it may be a while. Please, be patient :)! ****-Harper.**

**PS- Thank you to the lovely JLCH for pointing out a few mistakes I made in this chapter. All fixed now!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, just a warning, this chapter's full of fluff. Huddy ship haters better walk the plank. **

When they got home, Cuddy thanked Marina and paid her. The woman smiled, sending a piercing glance at the old doctor that had stolen her client's heart.

"You watch that man, Dr. Cuddy," Marina demanded, only half joking. "He looks meaner than an angry rattle snake."

Cuddy laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, he's just a big softie, Marina. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Marina smiled, and gave House a civil nod. "Yes. Good night, Dr. Cuddy."

When the nanny left, Cuddy stood in front of House and took hold of him by both arms, holding him out as if inspecting him. He looked down at her, bemusement on his face. "Yes?"

Suddenly, she pulled him into a hug. He froze for a moment, and then relaxed, taking it for what it was. "I'm just so proud of you, Greg," Cuddy sighed finally. "I know that was hard for you."

House grunted, shrugging, but secretly he was pleased by her praise. He hadn't had a whole lot of support growing up, and he longed, if subconsciously, for the pride his father had never felt him worthy enough to give him.

Rachel interrupted their moment together. "Hows?"

Cuddy grinned at Rachel's pronunciation of House's name. House let go of her, and sunk down in a chair, holding out his arm resignedly.

Rachel grinned and took the offered limb, climbing up on his left leg and placing both hands on his shoulders. Her eyes stared into his for a long moment, and he watched her carefully.

"You tired, Hows."

House gave her a soft smile, and Cuddy's heart melted a bit. Over the past few months, the two of them had been growing closer and closer.

House rumbled her hair in a gesture of affection, smiling wider when she giggled. "Yeah, kid, I'm tired. How about you? How was your day?"

Cuddy watched, amused, as Rachel launched into a garbled, articulate story about the adventures of her day with the nanny. House smiled, nodding in all the right places, but she could see him distancing himself from her words and really examining her.

Finally, Rachel slid down off his lap and grabbed hold of his left hand. "Pano, Hows."

He raised an eyebrow, tossing Cuddy a look. "This kid is definitely yours, Cuddy. She knows what she wants, just like her mama."

He stood without another word, not catching the look of joy that crossed Cuddy's face as he limped to her upright piano after her daughter.

He'd referred to her as a mother, without one snide comment on her ability as a parent.

She listened to him play various Disney themes for a while, smiling when she caught him singing softly and Rachel giggling in turn. For a moment, she just stayed in the kitchen, enjoying the sound of his voice. He really was a beautiful singer, and it made her sad to think she'd hardly heard him in action before a month or so ago.

For the first time, Cuddy thought about the future. She was afraid to bring it up with House, but they really needed to talk about it. She wanted him to be a part of her life, forever. The new side of him she'd been steadily uncovering during their months of dating convinced her more and more that she loved this man.

And she wanted… well, she was pretty sure she wanted to marry him.

Cuddy felt a shiver at her thoughts. She wasn't really sure House was open to that kind of commitment, and she didn't want to scare him off. However, she'd watched him connect with Rachel. She was pretty sure he loved the kid, though he seemed to hold back on any real parenting, leaving it to her mother.

Yes, Cuddy decided. She was going to have a talk with him tonight.

She strode into the living room, smiling at the sight of Rachel sitting next to House on the small piano bench. She tried, unsuccessfully, to mimic his movements on the higher keys, their soft tinkering adding an odd sound to 'the colors of the wind'. Cuddy smiled at the thought of House letting her bang on the piano.

Of course, it wasn't _his _piano, but still. It was a good sign.

"So I was thinking we'd order pizza," Cuddy suggested happily, sitting on the couch.

Rachel squealed and hopped off the piano bench, running to her mother. "Pizza!"

Well, that confirmed it. Cuddy ordered two pizzas, one split for her and Rachel and one for House. He didn't look up or comment throughout the order. Instead, he focused on the keys of her piano, lost in thought.

Throughout dinner, he was silent as well, and he didn't even look up when Rachel picked up his cane and began playing with it, trying to twirl it in her fingers as she'd seen him do multiple times.

Cuddy watched, slightly pensive, waiting for House to notice. His cane was one of the things he'd been most defensive about since the infarction, and she wanted to know how'd he react to Rachel playing with it.

After a few moments, the movements of her daughter caught his attention. She watched him with baited breath from the opposite side of the kitchen.

A soft smile made her heart flutter as he watched the toddler play with his flame cane. When she dropped it, the noise made her glance up at him fearfully, like a deer caught in headlights.

House simply raised an eyebrow. "Rachel, what are you doing?"

"I tried spinning your cane, Hows."

"I think your hands might be a bit to little for my cane, Rachel," he pointed out softly, not a hint of anger in his voice. "Why don't you try something smaller? Like a pencil?"

Rachel nodded, handing him his cane solemnly. He stood and jerked in surprise when she grabbed his hand.

She looked up at him with perfect love and trust in her eyes. "You teach me, Hows."

House blinked rapidly, almost like… like he was holding back _tears. _"Sure, kid. I'll teach yah. It'll drive your mom crazy."

He led her over to a kitchen drawer and handed her an unsharpened colored pencil, smiling when she tried to spin it in her little hands.

"It takes practice, Rachel. I'll show you tomorrow, okay? Right now it's about time for bed."

Rachel nodded solemnly. House had this… this _way _about her. He never spoke to her in a kiddy voice, and always answered her questions as plainly as he could. It was interesting to see him interact with someone so young, and the responses Rachel gave him thrilled Cuddy.

House picked her up and settled her on his left hip, carrying her to Cuddy. He looked at her with mingled surprise and shock when he saw she had tears in her eyes.

"Momma sad?" Rachel questioned, holding tighter to House.

"No, Baby. These are happy tears."

House's eyes widened in astonishment as she smiled and took Rachel. "I'll get her ready for bed, House. Can you wait on the couch for me; I want to talk to you."

House nodded, too stunned to make a lewd comment.

When she returned to the living room, Rachel safely asleep, House was waiting pensively on the couch. She laughed at the troubled expression on his face.

"Relax," she assured him softly, sitting down next to him on the sofa and cuddling next to him. "You aren't in trouble."

He _did _visibly relax, sinking into her with a sigh. "Good. Because I'm too tired for your punishments tonight, mistress."

Cuddy smiled at his joking tone, but she soon turned the conversation serious.

"I do want to talk to you, though."

House sighed, sitting back. "I figured. I want to talk to you too."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. House _wanted _to talk? This, she had to hear. "Okay. You first."

House looked up at her, blue eyes deep with emotion. "First off… I'm glad you went to the CP center with me today."

Cuddy could hear the other things, left unsaid, in his thank you. He was really thanking her for supporting him and not accusing him of drug seeking. For letting him answer the doctor's questions without her jumping down her throat. For just… being his rock.

She smiled. "I wouldn't have missed it, Greg."

"Just wait till Wilson hears…" he murmured, his face conflicting between amusement and fear.

Cuddy swore to herself that she'd talk to Wilson before he did, to stop any negative reaction he might have. "He'll be mother-henning for a week," she supplied gently, not voicing the alternative; that Wilson would accuse House of faking pain for drugs.

House nodded. "Yep. I guess I'll only tell him if he asks."

House's eyes found hers again. "The second thing, Lisa…"

He trailed off, swallowing. Cuddy thought he looked like he was trying to sit on a cactus. "What is it, House?"

He hesitated. "Well… I've been thinking."

"When are you not thinking?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood. It earned her a small flicker of a smile from her boyfriend.

"Anyway. I… I know you want me to… be a part of Rachel's life."

Cuddy's stomach flipped. Why did he sound so… sad? He wasn't… _oh, God, please, don't let him be breaking up right now, _she thought frantically.

House continued on, oblivious to her panic. "I'm just…"

He took a deep breath, looking at the wall. "I'm not sure I can be the father she deserves."

Cuddy let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, turning it into a relieved laugh. "House. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're perfect around her."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head and hesitating. Cuddy stopped laughing abruptly. She reached over and turned his face towards hers, staring at him.

"Hey. Greg. Look at me," she commanded.

He opened his eyes a smidge. She could see a startling amount of pain and sadness in them, more than she thought the situation warranted. "You're wonderful to Rachel. She loves you."

House shook his head. "I know. But every kid loves their parental figures, no matter what they're like, at least for a while."

He sounded… like he was talking from experience.

"House?" she prompted gently, taking his hand. "Why are you so worried about this?"

He bit his bottom lip. "Cuddy, how much do you… know about my family?"

Cuddy went over the facts in her brain. House seemed to love his mother, though he sometimes avoided her like the plague. Before his father had died, he'd constantly been at odds with the man, and had seemed to hate him.

She summed it up the best she knew how. "You love your mom, hated your dad, and you were an only child."

House twisted his lips. "Ever wonder why I hated my dad so much?"

Cuddy blinked, eyes wide. House's eyes were filled with… pain. They looked almost haunted.

She caught her breath, watching closely for his reaction. "Oh, my God. Greg. He abused you?"

His slight flinch spoke volumes. She'd hit right on the money.

She took his hand in hers. "How bad?"

"Verbally, it was like fighting with a sociopath. He knew just where to hit you where it hurt the most."

He swallowed. "Physically… I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He only broke a few bones."

Cuddy couldn't help the tear that slid down her face. House caught it with his thumb and wiped it off gently, his eyes worried and soft. "Lisa?"

She buried her face in his shirt, fighting tears. He hugged her hesitantly.

Her voice, choked out and muffled by his chest, shocked him. "Gregory House, you are not your father."

He swallowed, fighting a burning feeling in the back of his throat.

She looked up at him, unshed tears making her gray-blue eyes shiny. "You would _never _hurt Rachel. There's no doubt in my mind. There's no one I trust with her more."

He blinked back his own tears. "Cuddy, I…"

"No. I don't want to hear anything like that out of your mouth, ever. Never have I once seen you be cruel to Rachel in that way, and I know I never will. You'd… you'd make a great father for her, Greg."

His eyes, filled with wonder and hope, locked onto hers. Half a moment later, and they were passionately kissing on the couch, hands tangled in each other's clothes and hair. They continued on, tongues impassionedly battling in each other's mouths, until they _had _to come up for air.

They broke apart, staring into one another's glowing eyes and gasping.

House took her head in his hands, touching foreheads with her. In that moment, he knew that there was nothing else he wanted more than to be with this woman, forever.

"Lisa Cuddy, will you marry me?"

She took one look at his deep blue, sincere, love filled eyes, and hugged him, bouncing up and down like a teenager. "_Yes! _Yes I will!"

Talk about his pain, both emotional and physical, could _wait. _

Just then, they had an engagement to consummate.

**Ah! Had to get that out. That's what I _wanted_ to have happen in the show. Instead, I got a painful breakup and a wrecked house with a car through the front window. *sigh***


	5. Chapter 5

**Short little chapter on the next morning. Shouldn't be too long before I update. **

The next morning, Cuddy woke up slowly and happily, before her blaring alarm could rip her out of sleep. The sun was shining through her window, alighting the beige walls with a soft, orange glow that made her feel warm inside.

That feeling only intensified when her stretching arm landed on her boyfriend… no. Her _fiancé. _

House was dead to the world at the moment, cuddled up next to her, his arm draped around her waist. His slight growl of a snore was tickling her ear.

Caught in the moment, Cuddy wiggled her way around to face him, taking in his face. In sleep, the lines that usually crinkled at his eyes and mouth were eased. He looked peaceful. Without thinking too hard about it, Cuddy leaned forward and kissed him softly.

His eyes opened in surprise, and then his instincts took over and he fell into the kiss. It was soft and tender and everything that their passionate love making had not been last night.

When they finally broke apart, House let out a content sigh.

"If you'll wake me up like that every morning, I'll gladly get up at six."

Cuddy smiled at his slightly dazed expression. "Oh, really? I'll have to keep that in mind."

She snuggled into his chest, breathing in his scent. His strong hands caressed her back, stroking her hair and shoulders.

The alarm blaring made her jerk, and he laughed heartily at her. She smiled and giggled herself, then reached over without looking and hit the snooze. "Just a _few _more minutes."

For a couple minutes, they laid there in silence. Then House, without pausing in the stroking of her hair, began to speak in a joking tone. "You know, last night I had this _crazy _dream… I dreamt I proposed to you, in the living room, with out a ring or _anything, _and you said yes."

Cuddy smiled. "That was some dream. It would be great, except for the fact that I still want a ring."

House chuckled, hugging her still clothes-less body into his own. "I'll remedy that ASAP, my mistress."

Cuddy smiled into his chest. Really and truly, she didn't give a damn whether she was getting a ring or not. The fact that it had _happened _was all she needed.

"What do you think Wilson will say when I tell him?" House asked, an evil grin on his face.

Cuddy pulled away, chuckling, to shut off the alarm that had just started blasting. "I think I may have to grope you again."

They went about their morning routine, Cuddy feeding Rachel while House showered and got dressed. It went quickly, and before she knew it they were getting into their respective cars and driving to her home away from home.

They pulled in, and House met her at the front door. He smiled brilliantly at her, blue eyes sparkling, and pulled her into a toe curling kiss before they walked in. She got more than a few odd looks from passerby, but at that moment, she didn't care. She was too happy to care.

They broke apart, and House gave her outfit an approving once over. "Have I ever told you you're gorgeous in red, Cuddles?"

Cuddy smiled, smacking him lightly as his eyes lingered a bit too long on her chest. "I believe you've mentioned it, yeah."

House laughed outright and squeezed her hand before limping into the building after her. Cuddy detoured to her office, and House made his way to the elevator, feeling like he was floating on a cloud.

His mood had not dissipated when he got to his office. His team members watched him in shock as he practically danced into his office. They were unaccustomed to seeing him before, at the earliest, nine thirty in the morning on a Monday.

It was hardly eight.

Chase was the first to inch warily into House's office, where he was tossing his backpack onto his chair with a practiced ease. Chase was slightly alarmed to hear House _humming _happily.

"Uh…" Chase began, unsure whether he should enjoy it while he could or run for cover.

House turned around, limping into the DDX room. Forman watched him sprawl into a chair with a stunned expression on his face. Taub was so intent on House that he forgot he was pouring coffee, and he overflowed the cup and spilled it on himself. His startled curse at the hot liquid broke the silence in the room.

Chase watched House warily. "You high, House?"

House, instead of getting angry as the rest of the team had expected, just grinned and laughed. "No. Just happy. Got a case?"

Foreman swallowed and handed House a case file. He'd been doubtful that the diagnostician would take the case, as it didn't contain anything particularly interesting. However, it had stumped quite a few doctors, and the patient had no where else to turn. Foreman figured it was worth a shot.

House read the file at lightning speed, and spouted an answer without so much as a snide comment on their intelligence. "Addison's disease."

Chase blinked. Now that House had said it, it made sense. How had none of them seen it?

"Uh… alright. I'll go start treatment," the Australian muttered. House nodded his assent and watched his team file out with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

As soon as the door shut, Foreman turned to Chase, grabbing Taub's lab coat to pull him back into hearing distance. They congregated around the corner.

"Okay, something's up. Have y'all had any pranks pulled on you today?"

Forman and Taub shook their heads. "No, you?"

Chase shook his head as well. "Think he's back on vicodin?"

Taub sent a glance in their boss's direction. "It's certainly possible. Maybe he broke up with Cuddy and spent the weekend getting high."

The three of them looked uncomfortable at the possibility. "Maybe we should ask Wilson," Chase offered, glancing towards the oncologist's office.

The other two nodded their agreement, and together, they strode into Wilson's office without knocking.

Wilson looked up from a file he'd been reading, his face expressionless. "My, House, you seem to have multiplied by three and are now covering more of the demographic."

They ignored him. "Wilson," Chase began, "what's up with House?"

Wilson took in their expressions and began to take the situation seriously. "What do you mean?"

Foremen looked slightly uncomfortable. "He's… well, he's really… happy."

For anyone else, that would hardly be a cause for alarm, but it worried Wilson.

"Did he seem high to you?" Wilson asked sharply, standing.

"I'm not… sure…" Taub said to Wilson's retreating back. The three followed him as he barged into House's office.

House wasn't there.

There _was _a note on his desk, however, and Wilson picked it up to read.

_Wilson-_

_Stop freaking out, I'm fine. You can call me and I'll tell you why, and when you don't believe me, go to Cuddy and ask her. Do me a favor and tell her I'm 'remedying the problem' we had last night, because the case they gave me was ridiculously easy and I solved it already. _

_By the way, tell the ducklings they're doing my clinic duty today because they tattled. _

_House_

Wilson looked up at the team, reading the note out loud. He couldn't help but smile slightly at House's perceptiveness; he'd known that his team would go running, and had predicted that Wilson would confront him about it.

The team muttered in annoyance, but traipsed downstairs to the clinic to work off their punishments. Wilson took the opportunity to call the diagnostician.

"Hello?"

House's voice was oddly cheery. Wilson couldn't help but worry a bit.

"House, you'd better have a good explanation as to why you're gone."

Across town at a James Avery, House smiled down at the display. "Didn't you read the note?"

"Yes, I read the note, and you didn't explain a damn thing. What are you doing?"

House took a deep breath, pointing out the ring to the sale's person that he wanted. "I'm buying a ring."

House let Wilson grasp that statement for a moment, before continuing on. "For _Cuddy_."

Wilson's mouth flopped open. "I… wha?"

"I proposed, she said yes," House explained simply. "However, I didn't have a ring at the time, so I'm getting one now…"

Wilson chuckled for a moment, convinced his friend was joshing him. "Yeah, right, House. You proposing. That's rich."

House rolled his eyes, nodding to the sale's clerk and handing her his debit card. The ring was beautiful and intricate; a vine of gold intertwined with diamonds and tiny, delicate leaves in different shades of gold. He was pretty sure Cuddy would love it.

"As I said, go ask Cuddy. And tell her what I told you too. I'll see you at lunch."

House hung up the phone, and Wilson sighed heavily. Probably, House was betting on him not asking Cuddy out of embarrassment. Well, he was going to ask, if only to give the prankster diagnostician a taste of his own medicine.

**Well, suffice to say Wilson's going to get thrown on his ass. Reviews make the world go 'round!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, in case y'all hadn't realized this... I don't own House, M.D. **

**I know, big shocker. **

Wilson shook his head and returned to his office to finish the file he'd been working on before House's team had interrupted him. However, he couldn't concentrate, his mind wandering downstairs to Cuddy's office. After five or so minutes of fruitless concentration, he sighed and stood up. He might as well go to Cuddy now before House got back.

He arrived outside her door and gave a respectful knock. Unlike House, _he _had manners. He gave Cuddy a rueful smile when she motioned him in.

"House took off," he began slowly, easing into it. He noticed with interest that Cuddy was absolutely _glowing, _a bright smile on her face.

"I saw his team in the clinic. Where is he?"

Wilson made a face. "He told me to tell you he finished the case they brought him and he went off to… what was it? Oh yeah. He's 'remedying the problem' that you two had last night, whatever that means."

Cuddy's grin widened, and she gave a happy laugh. "He finished that case already! Wow, he's motivated when he's happy! And he's off to buy one! I'll say, I never expected that."

Wilson looked at her curiously. "He gave me a really weird excuse…" he hesitated, wondering what Cuddy's reaction would be. "He said he was getting you… a ring?"

Cuddy couldn't help but laugh at the suspicious look on Wilson's face. "Wilson, we're engaged!"

Wilson's eyes widened. It was one thing for House to joke, but Cuddy would _never _toss around an engagement as a gag. "You mean- he- I don't- you two are-"

"Yes! He just up and proposed, out of the blue last night! He didn't even have a ring. Wilson, we're getting _married!_"

Wilson fell back into the chair, feeling faint. "House. Is getting married. House. _House."_

Cuddy dropped the file she'd been working on, throwing her hands up in the air. She wanted to tell Wilson the context of the conversation, but she figured House wouldn't want her too, and that was his decision to make. "I know! I was going to breech the subject gently, warm him up to it, but then we just- BAM- kissed- and he proposes!"

Wilson vaguely felt like a gossiping schoolgirl, but this was just too much to let pass. "I can't believe it. I never thought he'd even consider… not after Stacy."

Cuddy gave him a small, sad, knowing smile. "I know Stacy hit him hard. I was expecting to have to fight him tooth and nail to even come to the subject."

Wilson didn't know what to do with himself. He suspected he was still in a light shock from the whole ordeal. "Well, congratulations. Tell House to meet me at lunch or something, I need to talk to him."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Don't grill him, Wilson. Let him be happy for once, and don't you _dare _give him any reason to doubt this is going to work out."

Wilson nodded, getting up. "I won't. He deserves to have some joy in his life, I guess. I'll see you later, Cuddy."

Cuddy smirked at Wilson's retreating figure. He'd reacted just as House thought he would.

At that moment, the phone rang. "Hello, this is Dr. Cuddy at PPTH."

"Dr. Cuddy?" asked a man with a bit of an Asiatic accent. "This is Dr. Yung. I'm calling to give you House's prescriptions. Do you want me to fax them?"

Cuddy was momentarily stunned. She'd forgotten about the pain clinic, with all her excitement. "Oh, yes, of course."

"Okay, I'm sending them now. I want him taking these for a week, and then we'll have a follow up visit to see how everything is working out. Has he been doing the pain diary? Or using the sleep meds?"

Cuddy blushed, thinking of the night they'd had last night. There had been no need for sleep meds after some of the things they'd done together. And with the proposal, House had pretty much abandoned a pain diary.

"Uh… no, he didn't yesterday, though there was a good reason."

"Uh huh…" Dr. Yung replied doubtfully. "Well, ask him to please try them out today and tonight, Dr. Cuddy. And ask him if he ever started a previous pain diary; that would give us a good insight to if his levels have changed."

Cuddy very much doubted that House had done anything of the sort, but, remembering the file he'd had at the CPC, she figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.

The fax machine whirred and spat out some papers, and she picked them up and stood. "Thank you, Dr. Yung, and I will. I'll call later to schedule an appointment."

"That's fine. Please, though, can you ask House to call me? There are some things in his file that I'd like to discuss."

Cuddy wondered what those things could possibly be, but she didn't question Yung. "Will do. Have a good day."

"You too. Good bye."

"Good bye."

Cuddy hung up the phone with a sigh, feeling vaguely like a scolded child. She looked at her back wall for a long moment.

Suddenly, two strong, wiry arms wrapped around her waist gently. Cuddy smiled at House's familiar scent, breathing in deeply. His chin tickled her shoulder and cheek.

"Doctor, try not to woo me in the workplace."

House chuckled deeply in her ear, his deep voice sending shivers up her spine. She forced herself not to melt. "But I'll pay you and everything. Look, I have gold."

His arm appeared in front of her face, a box open in his hand. Inside was the most beautiful, perfect ring she'd ever seen.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh, Greg. It's _beautiful."_

"And the ring is too," he joked, playfully hugging her. With two strong arms, he put the ring on her finger. She admired it in the light shining in through the window, then spun around and fell into a deep kiss.

House was just as passionate, getting more and more into it. His hands were just starting to run off the back of her shirt when there was a knock at the door.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

She ignored the voice, as did House.

"Dr. Cuddy! This is kind of important."

Cuddy sighed against House's lips, opening her eyes. His blue ones were like fire, staring at the door and the person who had interrupted their make out session.

She turned to see her secretary standing there, wide eyed. Everyone knew she and House were dating, but they'd never made it so blatantly obvious. Cuddy motioned for her to come in.

She shivered under the cold gaze of House, and Cuddy smacked his arm lightly. "House, stop scaring my help. You get enough nurses to quit as it is."

House blinked, letting the malice flow out of his eyes. "Wouldn't want to break my streak," he half joked, but he was no longer glaring at her secretary.

"Well, Wilson said he wanted to talk to you."

House suddenly grinned, secretary forgotten. "How'd he react?"

Cuddy smirked in return. "It was priceless. He said he'd talk to you at lunch."

House let an evil smile play across his face. "Nah, he'll have to wait. You and I are going to go eat somewhere."

He gingerly got off of her desk, wincing slightly at his weight on his leg. He didn't give Cuddy a chance to remark, however, because he kissed her lightly on the lips. "See you then. And no, you don't have a meeting."

Cuddy couldn't quite hide the smile behind the exasperated look she was going for as he limped out the doors.

**Next chapter coming real soon. There just wasn't a better way to break them up. **


	7. Chapter 7

House couldn't stop the smile that seemed to be plastered to his face either. Cuddy seemed _really _happy. Ecstatic, even. Not really the reaction he'd expected when he'd proposed.

It had just popped out of his mouth before he could stop it. He loved her, with all his soul. He knew he _wanted _to be with her for the rest of his life. He'd just never given thought to marriage.

No, scratch that. He _had _given thought to it. He'd just been… well, not afraid, exactly, just… hesitant. It was a deep, undefined fear that had probably been instilled in him by his father, and later Stacy; he was afraid he wasn't good enough for her. That she wouldn't want him around her daughter. That she'd expect more than he could give.

He loved enough to let her know exactly what she was getting into, which was why he'd told her about the relationship he'd had with his father. But when he'd come out about the abuse… it hadn't gone down as his pessimistic mind had expected. He'd been envisioning a bad break up because Cuddy didn't want Rachel around damaged goods. Instead, she'd been understanding and kind. She didn't pity him, either.

Her reaction had been just what he needed to hear. That he wasn't his father. He _knew _he wasn't, he loved Rachel, and would never hurt her. The kid had practically become his own. It was just that he was afraid he'd screw up, that he'd hurt her in some way as her father figure. Lord knows he hadn't had the best example.

He dodged past Wilson's office, hoping the oncologist wouldn't spot him. He wasn't quite ready to talk about everything yet. He knew if he got started with the proposal, he'd have to get into the pain clinic, and what had happened to prompt it. He didn't really feel up to having that discussion with Wilson at the moment.

For a moment, his joy abated, and he sighed. Wilson. He honestly wasn't sure how he was going to explain the pain clinic to him.

Put simply, House hurt. He was in pain, more pain than before, all the time. It made him tired and irritable and less inclined to get up and try. Still, he'd been making an effort to be a marginally better person than before Mayfield.

It seemed like it wasn't making much difference, and it was discouraging. Wilson was his best friend- no, more like his brother. But the oncologist tended to think the worst of him. House was afraid to talk to Wilson frankly about his pain; afraid the oncologist would think he was faking for praise from Cuddy, or worse, drug seeking.

House got to his office, passed the empty DDX room (his team was still in the clinic) and fell heavily into his office chair, rubbing his leg steadily. The extra ride on his bike and the breakthrough pain were still taking their toll, and he got tired more easily. His leg felt disgustingly weak.

Of course, that was when Chase walked in. House didn't notice him at first. The Australian doctor watched House for a moment; the older doctor's hand was on his leg, and he was staring out at the sky, apparently deep in thought.

He rapped on the desk to gain House's attention. House blinked and turned his head to Chase. "What?"

Chase noticed his hand slip off his leg in a smooth movement. "I think I've got us another case. Guy in the clinic came in with what we thought was a cold- but he had a seizure out of no where. Grand mal. Thing was, he finished and got up like nothing had happened and tried to leave."

House nodded shortly, standing up slowly. Chase winced at the way House gently tested his weight on his leg; he would have bet money that the doctor had had a bad bout of breakthrough pain that weekend. But, knowing House, he dared not mention it.

House's mind was racing. His leg was acting up all of a sudden, getting weaker by the second. It did that sometimes, and he wasn't too alarmed, but he still didn't like it. It was probably a combination of the excessive bike ride across town, the long car trip from yesterday, and the breakthrough pain. These days, he had to be extra carful and weigh everything he did.

Apparently he'd failed in that respect epically.

House grabbed the file out of Chase's hand. "Okay, spot. Go fetch the team."

Chase rolled his eyes and turned to walk out the door, but he paused for a moment to look back. House was bracing himself with both hands on the table, looking out the windows at the sky again.

His mouth twisted in sympathy as he left to get Forman and Taub. At least the pain meant that he wasn't high on something.

House watched him go out of the corner of his eye, and let loose a shaky breath. His thigh was trembling and shaky, and he needed to sit_ down. _

He collapsed into one of the cushy chairs, too exhausted to maintain a the illusion of standing any longer. His leg was weak and unstable, too fatigued to be of any real use at the moment. He felt like he'd run a marathon or something.

He huffed angrily, trying to stand, to walk it off. To his shock, his thigh _refused _to hold his weight. The leg simply gave out and folded as soon as he tried to stand on it.

He sighed, frustrated, rubbing the bridge of his nose after falling back into the seat. He'd pushed the diminished muscle too far, apparently.

He'd give it some time, but if nothing else worked he'd have to cave and use a wheelchair for the day. Wilson would have a field day with that one. Sometimes he felt that his thigh and his friend were working together to break him down.

He'd rather just sit in his office for the rest of the day, and basically crawl out of the building after everyone went home. However, this time that wasn't an option. He'd promised Cuddy lunch.

House closed his eyes and tried to think of how he was going to hide the fact that he couldn't stand up from his team.

**Again, sorry for the shortness, but updates will be speedy. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Special shout out to HuddyGirl, who seemed rather distressed in the reviews; I don't plan on breaking them up. I meant the chapters, not the characters! :) **

Chase walked briskly down the hall and too the elevator, his lab coat flapping behind him. Once he'd retrieved the other two doctors, he turned around and kept pace while walking backwards to talk to them.

"He's not on anything. Take a good look when we get there, he's in quite a bit of pain."

Taub pressed his lips together. "What else could make him so irrationally happy?"

A voice popped out of no where behind them. "He's getting married."

Wilson strode up to the team, smiling. "He proposed to Cuddy last night."

Chase started to laugh, but his mouth fell open in shock as Wilson continued to smile at him. "You're serious?"

"Yep. Insane, right? But I asked Cuddy. And now the nurses are spreading a rumor that she's wearing an engagement ring. Who would have thought it?"

Taub looked like he'd just a miracle. "Hell must be receiving a good eight inches of snow right now," he expressed with awe.

"Testify, brother!" Forman exclaimed, echoing Taub's stunned tone.

Wilson shook his head at their antics, and led them to the DDx room. He wanted talk to House before the man could wiggle out of it, preferably with witnesses.

House was seated in one of the squishy chairs in the DDx room, a carefully blank expression masking his features. He sighed dramatically when he saw Wilson and his smile. "Here it comes."

"House!" Wilson exclaimed, grinning madly. In the last hour, he'd sort of come to terms with the proposal and engagement, and now he was bursting with happiness for his friend. "Congratulations!"

House shot a look at his ducklings, who where all looking shell shocked, and groaned. "You told them! _Why _did you tell them?"

"House, engagements are _happy _news. _Meant to be shared," _he emphasized.

House rolled his eyes, but for the moment, the situation with his leg was forgotten. He smiled in spite of himself, waggling his eyebrows. "Well, how long did you think she could resist having _all _of this?"

Wilson chuckled and sat next to him. The team continued to stare.

House looked around Wilson to the team. "Come on, come on! People dying, time is money, the heater's on, and all that jazz!"

They seemed to come back to themselves. Chase cleared his throat. "O… kay. So he presented with-"

House made a loud, annoying buzzer sound effect. "Ehh! On the _board!"_

Forman frowned at him. "You usually do it."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Chase, I officially promote you to board writer."

A marker was tossed at the Australian's face. He caught it, seeming pleased.

"Wait," Wilson interrupted. "Why Chase?"

"You aren't actually on my pay roll, Forman's handwriting is too girly, and I'm not sure Taub could reach the top of the board."

The two ducklings frowned while Chase got up to write the symptoms. Wilson frowned, as well; what he'd _meant _was why House hadn't gotten up to write them _himself. _He had a feeling that the older doctor had known exactly what he'd been asking.

When they were finished, and sent on their way for tests, Wilson remained. House tried to avoid eye contact as long as possible, wishing he hadn't left his game boy on his desk.

"So..." Wilson said gamely, kicking back to let his legs rest on the table. "What aren't you telling me?"

House stared up at the ceiling. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Yes you are. Come on, House. You wouldn't look so uncomfortable if you weren't hiding something."

House sighed. Start big, or small?

"Cuddy took me to a chronic pain center yesterday."

The statement came out rushed and forced, and hung in the room like a gunshot.

Wilson removed his legs from the table, leaning forward. "Why?"

House threw him a glance, blue eyes wary. "Because my leg hurts."

"Your leg always hurts. Why now?"

House grimaced, looking down at his hands. "I had… a bad bout of…"

He cleared his throat. "Breakthrough pain. She was awake."

Wilson winced. He remembered the long nights after the infarction where he'd stayed with his friend, battling pain with drugs. The nights where House had been totally out of it and the ones where he'd been just awake enough to scream into a pillow were etched into his memory.

He blinked. "I thought that stopped happening years ago..?"

House squinted at his hands. "Not so much."

"…" Wilson looked at him closely, noticing the lines of pain around his eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing much. But the next morning she watched my unsuccessful attempt to get out of bed and decided that Advil wasn't cutting it."

Wilson could see that House was enormously uncomfortable with the subject, and suspected the man had only told him to keep him from finding out through someone else. He felt a bit hurt that House felt he couldn't trust him.

"House, why are you so defensive about this? I don't doubt you're in pain."

House finally turned to look at him, blue eyes blazing. Wilson jerked backwards nervously.

"Why am I _defensive? _Are you _kidding?_ When my team came to tell you I was happy, what was the first thing you thought? Go ahead, say it!"

Wilson's face reddened. "I figured… you were back on vicodin," he mumbled ashamedly.

"Exactly! _I don't want to go back to the drugs! _I'm not sure what I have to do to prove that to you, Wilson!"

Wilson swallowed thickly. "You don't. I'm sorry."

"You don't get it. I have not _once _taken a vicodin since Mayfield. I've made due with ibuprofen, which, by the way, isn't really doing much for me. Hence the pain clinic."

Wilson shrunk down in his chair, though House had not gotten up. "I've made efforts, Wilson. I have. I just couldn't do it any more. Cuddy recognized that and is actually trying to get me some help instead of _constantly_ judging me all the time."

"It's not like you make it easy to give you help," Wilson protested feebly, but House's glare shot him down.

"Not kicking me out of the loft would have been _helpful. _Being there for me after the crane accident would have been _helpful. _If these are your attempts at being _helpful, _no thanks. It seems like you aren't there for me any more just because the drugs are gone."

Wilson winced. It was sort of true. He'd pretty much abandoned House after he no longer had a reason to constantly harp on him.

House broke off his gaze and visibly deflated. Wilson suddenly realized how tired House looked. "Just making a point."

Wilson sighed. "You're right."

House's head shot up, his gaze questioning. "Huh?"

"You're right and I'm sorry. I forgot about the friendship we had before all this shit happened. It just… seemed like you didn't really need me anymore."

House stared at him incredulously. "Wilson, you're a moron. Do you really think I kept you around just to hear you bitch? Contrary to what you might believe, I _don't _like being lectured."

The graying doctor glanced him up and down, his gaze softening a modicum. "You're basically my brother, Jimmy. Don't be an idiot."

Wilson smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, and then House spoke up. "I'm feeling like an enabler here, but here's a dose of needy. I need your help up."

Wilson startled, his gaze jumping to his friend beside him. He hadn't moved an inch during the entire conversation, not even attempting to stand.

"Of course."

Wilson levered himself under House's left side, helping him into an upright position. The doctor carefully placed both hands on the table in front of him, supporting almost all his weight with his arms. Wilson backed up a step to let him test out his leg.

It wouldn't hold weight. House huffed, frustrated, and fell back into the chair. "A'int hap'nin."

Wilson was a bit afraid to bring it up, but he did anyway. "You want a wheelchair?" he hesitantly questioned

House stared angrily at the ground, and Wilson took that for a yes. He hurried out and returned with a wheelchair, stopping it in front of House. He wasn't sure where to go from there.

Generally, House wouldn't let Wilson touch him. For all his talk about being brothers, he didn't even like casual contact. That's why he'd been so surprised when House had asked him for help voluntarily.

As if reading his mind, House spoke up. "I don't let you help me that often, Wilson, because you did it so much right after the infarction. You basically babied me for months, and it was humiliating. I hated the fact that I had to depend on you for everything."

House looked up at him, offering a hand. "I'm learning it isn't such a bad thing to occasionally lean on your friends."

Wilson smiled and helped House into the chair, rolling his eyes as House easily popped the front wheels up into the air and did a three sixty turn. "And I hate wheelchairs because I was afraid I'd never get out of the one I had after the infarction."

Wilson immediately sobered at the confession. "Well, you did. This is just temporary."

House scowled. "For now. Yung- that's the CPC doctor- wants me using a wheelchair on and off every other week. Knowing Cuddy, that's probably going to happen."

Wilson was quietly amazed. The fact that he considered it at all was an indication that he wasn't the man that he'd been. In many ways, Mayfield had broken down his walls. It was up to Cuddy and Wilson to take down the rest, brick by brick.

Wilson had to jog to keep up with House, who seemed bound and determined to outpace those with legs. He slid into the elevator easily, coming in sideways and skidding until he was in perfectly. Wilson had to stick his arm through the doors just to get in with him.

He leaned down over his knees, panting. "What the hell are you in such a hurry for?"

"Going to lunch with Cuddy. Plus I didn't want to deal with the team."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the doors pinged open again and House shot out towards Cuddy's office.

**Next chapter arriving relativity soon. Reviews are like sweet, sweet candy! **

**(Shameless advertising below, so feel free to avert your eyes if you must)**

**On a side note, I have a handy tip. Go check out pkfloyd94 's fic "Weary," and give them a good, detailed review. I like the story and all it's detail, and I want it to be more widely viewed!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow, over 100 reviews! You guys are amazing! **

Cuddy jumped as her door opened, seemingly of its own accord. She blinked in surprise when she realized House had just entered her office, his head gliding towards her.

He was in a wheelchair.

She jumped up to come around the desk and circle him. "House, oh my God. What happened? Why the chair?"

House grimaced. "I'm fine, Cuddy, calm down," he assured her. When she continued to frantically examine him, he pushed her into one of the chairs in her office, gently.

"Cuddy. I'm _fine._ Calm _down,_" he commanded her forcefully, his blue eyes catching and holding her gray ones.

Cuddy stilled herself, but he could still see the anxiety in her eyes. "Nothing's wrong, okay? I figured today would be an okay day to start the week on the chair."

No, he hadn't, and Cuddy knew it. She knew how defensive House got when he felt he was weak, and not being able to walk defiantly constituted as such in his mind. Her eyes softened.

She knew the past few days had been hard on him, but she didn't realize just _how _hard. The day to day issues of his leg slipped her mind so much, and suddenly, Yung's words echoed in her thoughts.

"_Dr. House has to think out every movement, every step, every day. Is getting up to answer the phone worth the pain afterwards? It being his right leg, is driving worth it?"_

"It's hurting more from the last few days, isn't it?" she questioned him gently.

He stared at her, face blank, for a long moment. Then, he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious motion.

She took his silence as a 'yes', and gently fingered his stubbly chin to where he was facing her. "I'm sorry. Yung sent the prescriptions, and you can start taking them. We don't need to go to lunch."

He frowned. "No, we're going. And my leg is just tired. It'll be back to normal soon, probably by tomorrow."

He took the prescriptions out of her hand, looking them over. His expression was unreadable, and she waited tensely for his reaction.

Finally, he nodded slowly. "I'll get these today, and start them in the morning. Before that, though, we're going out. And I'm driving."

"Do you really think that's such a good-"

"_Yes, _I do, and it's fine. I can drive with my left, I have before."

"That's not really safe."

House frowned at her. "Cuddy, I'm used to it. We'll be perfectly fine."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Are we going to be drinking?"

"A bit of wine."

"Then _I'm _driving back."

"Fair enough."

House smiled, rolling towards the door and beckoning Cuddy to walk with him. "Come on. Let's go before the three stooges see me in the wheelchair."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but followed him to the car. House got more than a few stares as he rolled past, and Cuddy cringed in sympathy for him. It was no small wonder that he was so against the wheelchair; he got enough odd looks with the cane. It wasn't so far out of her mind to grasp why he didn't want to be rolling around all the time.

The looks from her staff reminded her that she would have to inform the board of their engagement. Her mind, even as it was overjoyed to now be engaged to House, was racing to come up with ways to explain to the board just how she was going to remain fair as a boss to her _husband._

She smiled at the thought. Husband. Her and House. Married.

House got to her car first, and Cuddy marveled at the way he maneuvered himself into the car. In a practiced, almost easy motion, he gripped the roof and door and levied himself inside, landing on the seat with a small thump. The only that betrayed his discomfort was the slight wince as he moved his leg into place.

Cuddy folded the chair in half and slid it in the back seat, on the opposite side of Rachel's car chair. House had already started the car by the time she got in.

"Wait, when did you take my keys?" she asked suddenly, realizing she'd never handed them to him.

He grinned devilishly. "I snuck them when we were making out. I figured you wouldn't let me drive otherwise."

Cuddy was slightly marveled by his pick-pocketing skills, but she just frowned disapprovingly. "Don't steal my things."

He did a fake pout as he pulled out of the parking lot. "You're no fun, Cuddles."

Cuddy flipped on the radio when they reached a stoplight, smiling slightly as House allowed her to choose the station. He was normally quite particular about what he listened to, but she could almost _see _him choosing to let her pick this time around.

"House, are you actually trying to be _nice _to me?" Cuddy asked coyly, smirking at his slightly stricken face.

"Well, I figured I should probably start now, considering I'm gonna be stuck with you for the rest of my life. Why make it worse?"

His words were mean, but his face was openly happy and joking, his eyes alight. Cuddy smiled and selected a rock station she knew he liked- the fact that he was even trying was enough to reward him. They pulled out as the light turned green.

No sooner had she pressed the button on the radio than she heard a loud screech.

She and House looked to the right simultaneously, as if in slow motion. A huge truck was weaving erratically on the road, much to fast, running their red light and _heading straight towards them._

There was no where they could go, and no time to pull totally out of the way. There were cars in front of and behind them, blocking them in.

She hardly had time to scream, but everything seemed to slow and last forever. House made a split second decision and wrenched the wheel; doing a nearly one eighty turn out of no where. By doing so, he changed Cuddy's position to the one farthest away from the oncoming truck, but placed himself directly in the way.

Then the oncoming vehicle slammed into House's side, bringing with it an earth shattering crash that sounded like it'd come straight from the depths of hell.

There was a mass of screeching and screaming and crashing and bone shaking crunches and the world was spinning and the seatbelt was cutting into her and _oh God her heart was pounding and we're going to die we'regoingtodiewe're_going_to_die and then-

Nothing.

**I know, I'm evil. Please don't hate me too much. If you have emotional whiplash, take a quick nap. I'll probably have this updated by the time you wake up.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello, readers! Sorry to leave you hanging that last chapter. This one isn't much better, sorry, but updates should be relativity quick. Thank you for not killing me!**

**PS: a kind reviewer named resourceress7 pointed out a few key issues with this chapter, which have sense been fixed. Any of you that have medical knowledge, feel free to tell me what a moron i'm being :) Facts help the writing process. **

The first thing House was aware of was a suffocating pressure on his chest. It was restricting his breathing, something he noted with a mixture of emotions; calm apathy, that came with being a doctor, and alarm, that came with being the one that needed medical attention.

Then the ringing in his ears cleared away, vanishing like the sheet a magician pulled away from their newest trick, and he noticed someone was franticly yelling in his ear.

"House! _House!" _

He didn't want to open his eyes, because his head was pounding something awful. But, somehow, that voice was important. He felt compelled to reassure that voice that he was still alive.

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't.

The first view he had was one of his chest, and it wasn't a pretty sight to behold. There was blood. Lots of blood.

The hazy world around him snapped into sharp clarity along with the memory of what had landed him in this predicament.

"Cuddy?" he choked out, his voice thick and scratchy. He turned his head as much as he could, taking in her shell shocked face. There were tear streaks down her cheeks, her gray eyes shining in the sunlight that was pouring through the shattered windshield.

Sunlight. It seemed absurd that it was still day time, that only a few moments had passed since the crash, that the world hadn't changed much while their entire world came crashing down around them.

"House, oh, God. I thought you were _dead!_" Cuddy sobbed. "You didn't open your eyes- and the door- and I-"

"Cuddy- CUDDY!" House shouted, regretting it a moment later as he violently coughed. Blood spattered his shirt and the dash, and his vision swam for a long moment.

Then he could breathe again, and time returned to its normal pace. "Stop panicking. Are you hurt?"

Cuddy blinked a few times, trying to get her breathing under control and assess herself. Her chest was aching a bit from the seatbelt, and her arm was stinging mightily. The glass from her window had shattered and bit into her right side.

Other than that, though, she seemed unharmed. "No, I'm fine."

House relaxed, taking a shuddering breath. Him hurt was one thing- something he could deal with- but _Cuddy _hurt was something he didn't think he could have stayed sane for. He felt himself losing his battle with consciousness, the pain threatening to engulf him.

"Hello?" a voice called from outside the vehicle. "I'm calling 911!"

Cuddy watched with horror as House's eyes fluttered for a moment. "House! Stay with me!"

"M' chst hurts…" he mumbled, half conscious.

"I know, I know it hurts," Cuddy choked, trying to keep herself from panicking outright. "But you can't pass out. You have to stay awake."

House's blue eyes met hers, his hazy with pain. For the first time, Cuddy really looked at what had happened to him, and wished she hadn't.

The door that the truck had slammed into had smashed inwards, crushing House with its almighty pressure. Since they'd hit at a slight angle, the door had wrapped around his chest and was pressing into him. It was obviously restricting his breathing, and more than one part of the car seemed to be _inside_ his chest, causing him to bleed freely. Cuddy could only pray that he hadn't punctured a lung.

She couldn't even see the sun through that end of the car, so totally had it been smashed. It was a confusing mass of metal and plastic and glass- but nothing of the outside world seemed to be there, leaving House alone in an agony filled, man made catastrophe.

Then, suddenly, hands were pulling her out of the vehicle. She seemed in a trance, watching House while paramedics tried asking her questions.

"Ma'am. Ma'am!" a voice was shouting incessantly in her ear. Cuddy's eyes drifted to the paramedic. He was shining a light in her eyes, trying to see if she had any sort of spinal or cranial damage.

Cuddy took a deep breath, trying to distance herself from the situation as she'd been taught in med school. It wasn't as effective on the patient side, that was for sure.

"I'm okay. Just a bit bruised and cut up on my arm."

Even as she spoke, a gurney was being pulled towards her. She shook her head, seeing the rest of the world behind the paramedic. Traffic was being held back by the crash. She saw the truck that had hit them; it was off the side of the road, on its side. There were paramedics swarmed around it as well, and as she watched, the driver was pulled out and placed on a gurney.

Thankfully, it looked as though no one else had been affected by the crash- a miracle, in her eyes. She'd half expected the entire world to be in the same state as her car and her fiancé.

House. All at once, the reality of the situation crashed down around her. Her heart pounded, her head hurt, her breathing was fast and shallow. The paramedic placed an oxygen mask over her face with alarm, and before she could protest, she was placed in the gurney and rolled into an ambulance.

"PPTH," she choked, coming back to reality. "I'm the dean at PPTH. Dr. Cuddy."

The paramedics stopped for half a second to stare at her. Finally having gained their attention, she launched into speech.

"I'm not seriously injured. My arm and side are cut up, that's all. I'm not leaving until he's out."

The paramedics didn't have to ask who she was talking about. Even now, emergency workers were trying to pull the man from the wreckage. He'd lost consciousness the moment they'd tried to get the door open- apparently the pain had made him black out.

Finally, they allowed her to sit up. Working quickly from the back of the ambulance, they cut off the red top that House had been complementing just that morning. She was given a shot of pain killer, and then they started cleaning and bandaging the wounds from the glass. Only a few were bad enough for stitches- for those, they closed them with butterfly bandages until an ER doctor could take care of them.

She was told sternly by an EMT to stay seated, to keep breathing deeply, to try not to panic. She did the best she could, but her every thought centered around House and what he was going through, and what he had done for her.

* * *

At the same time, not far away, Wilson was eating lunch in the oncology lounge, enjoying that, for once, House was not around to steal half his sandwich. The TV was on in the corner, the local news playing softly for the doctors to watch while they took a needed break.

His gaze wandered to the TV as he chewed his sandwich. The news was going on about a crash that had just happened.

"Wow, look, that's right near here," one of the other doctors commented to his coworker, gesturing at the location at the bottom of the screen.

The accident flashed up on screen again, showing a close up of the car and the ambulances around it.

"We have preliminary reports that it was a DWI incident. Both the driver of the truck and the passenger of the hit vehicle are stable, and not seriously injured, but it looks as though the driver of the car is still stuck inside. We're praying for their safety. Back to you, Tim."

The other broadcaster's face appeared on screen. "Yes, we are, Samantha. Well, folks, traffic on both ends of 32nd street is backed up while this mess is cleared up, so we suggest an alternate route for your lunch break."

The doctor turned to where Dr. Wilson had been sitting to comment, but he was gone. His sandwich was lying abandoned on his plate.

* * *

Wilson's hands shook as he ran to his car, pulling out his cell phone.

Surely, surely that hadn't been who he'd thought it'd been. The woman who'd briefly appeared in the back of the ambulance _couldn't_ be Cuddy. It was just a look alike, it had to be.

Her cell rang several times, finally getting picked up. Her shaky voice floated over the line.

"H-hello?" Cuddy stuttered out, having just pulled the phone out of her pocket. She was sort of amazed it had stayed put- the car had spun with so much force.

It was Wilson. "Cuddy! I'm so glad you answered. Its silly, really, but I just saw the news, and I thought-"

"That was us, Wilson," she sobbed, finally letting the tears fall. She cried openly while talking to him, her words coming out in small, shuddering gasps.

"I'm on the way." Wilson finally said, a tremor to his voice. "Is House…"

"He's st-still in the c-car. Th-they're having to c-cut him o-out."

Cuddy sobbed. "Oh, God, Wilson! He- he…"

"He's going to be okay, Lisa. I'll be there. I'm driving now."

"P-please hurry," she cried, desperate for someone who understood, someone who she could cling to and cry like she needed to.

"But you're okay?"

"I'm f-fine," she choked. "House, he… he angled the car-"

She stopped then, making a small, anguished noise. Wilson's stomach sunk.

* * *

He pulled as far as he could and parked his car on the grass, running up. His doctor's coat fluttered behind him willy nilly, flapping wildly in the wind.

He got to the scene just as they got House out. The world seemed to be drained of color, the cruel gray of the asphalt growing to replace the sun and the sky and the grass. The only bit of color he could see was the red staining House's blue shirt.

Then the world snapped back into normal, and he ran to the gurney.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back," an officer said deeply, but Wilson shook his head and kept walking.

"I'm his doctor. Excuse me," he replied in the same tone, and the officer let him pass, blinking at the authority that had been in his voice.

Wilson followed the gurney, his head spinning at the amount of blood House seemed to have lost.

A paramedic- the man's name was Jason- recognized him. "Dr. Wilson!" he yelled in greeting, jogging over. The gurney was rushed past them and into the ambulance, and Wilson followed it.

The man's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Wilson, you can't be in there."

"He's family."

The EMT squeezed his shoulder. "I know. We're taking him to PPTH. But _she_ needs you more," he finished, pointing.

Wilson ripped his eyes away from House to see Cuddy, shaking and crying in the back of an ambulance.

His heart hurt. He wanted to be with House, but the man was unconscious and there was really nothing he could do to help. Cuddy, on the other hand, was very much awake and in anguish.

"Make sure you watch his right leg. He's got a pre existing injury. And use non-narcotic analgesia, opiates only as a last resort."

Jason nodded solemnly, knowing that the distraught doctor had to feel like he was doing _something.  
_

With a final, heart wrenching glance, he hurried to Cuddy's side, nodding at Jason as he shut the door and climbed in to rush House to the hospital.

"Cuddy," he spoke in greeting. She stood shakily, falling into a hug. Wilson did his best to comfort her sobbing frame without hurting her obviously injured arm.

"They took House to the hospital. We need to be there," he almost asked, as delicately as he could.

Cuddy seemed to gain strength from this, her inner administrator beginning to shine thorough. "Come on."

Before she could get into the vehicle, however, a young woman appeared in front of her, a thermos in her hands. She had a sypmathetic look on her kind face.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" she asked timidly, holding out the thermos. "I just made this at home, I was on the way to work. Hot chocolate. I'm so sorry this happened to you, but you drink that. It'll help."

Cuddy smiled graciously, blinking back tears at the kindness of strangers. "Thank you so much."

The woman smiled, handing her a card. "Here's my number when you're ready to return the thermos."

She walked off, and Cuddy took a small sip of the drink.

They rode in the ambulance to the hospital, Cuddy getting treatment for mild shock on the way. A blanket was draped over her shoulders.

She sipped at the warm liquid on the way, the drink and cover giving her a purely physical warmth she did not really feel.


	11. Chapter 11

_**/IMPORTANT SO READ THAT UNDERLINED CRAP NOW/**_

**Go back and re- read the end of the last chapter if you waited for this one to update. I changed a few things, based on a review post that was quite helpful. Go. Now. Re-read. Do it and you get metaphorical internet chocolate. **

**Okay guys, quick point here. I'm not a doctor, nor am I a nurse, nor am I a paramedic. The extent of my medical training consists of a health class I took online in two days to get my school credits, and Medical Terminology. So please, don't judge me too harshly. You aren't here for medical facts anyway, and if you are… sorry. **

The ride to the hospital was relatively short, but to Cuddy and Wilson, it was the longest wait of their life. They had no way of knowing what House was going through, no way to know if he was even still alive.

Cuddy was in the ambulance, being fussed over by an EMT. Wilson was in his car, he and his thoughts alone.

House wasn't fairing much better. He'd regained consciousness about half way there, and was busy trying not to puke from the pain of having a car door meet him up close and personally. He caught snatches of the conversations of the paramedics-

"The lung must be punctured, I'm only getting breath sounds on the right-"

"He's lost too much blood, his BP is dropping too far-"

"Oxygen stats are in the shitter, I'm going to intubate-"

He was too out of it to protest, and the world went black as they sedated him for the procedure.

Wilson and Cuddy got there right behind House, and the pair piled out into the ER. Wilson's car was parked haphazardly, taking up nearly half of another spot- normally, he wouldn't have left it that way, but under the circumstances he didn't much care if he took up an entire row.

House was sent to prep for surgery, and Wilson had the presence of mind to call Chase. House had pissed off almost all the competent surgeons in the hospital, and Chase was probably the only one that wouldn't 'accidentally' leave a surgical implement in his innards.

He arrived in the ER as Cuddy was getting shards of glass pulled out of her arm.

"Jesus Christ! Dr. Cuddy, what the hell happened?"

Cuddy's eyes met his, hers like fire. "Accident. I need you with House."

"He-"

"He's in surgery _right now," _she interrupted, cutting him off. "_Go."_

Chase nodded, taking off.

He arrived to the operating room and scrubbed in, going as fast as he could. They were still getting him stabilized when he walked in, and he looked up on the observation platform to give Wilson a reassuring nod.

Chase was in his element. Surgery was what he did best. However, when he saw the state of House's torso, he had to fight panic.

The crash had really done a number on him. His chest had been mangled heavily by the door, crushing his left lung and breaking several ribs straight off. His right arm was heavily bruised and had several deep, angry lacerations that another doctor was stitching up as he took inventory of his boss.

God. His boss.

This was House. House, who had been there that morning, happy and in love. House, who, not even two hours ago, had been directing them in a differential and insulting Forman's handwriting.

Apparently it had taken them half an hour to get him out of the car.

Chase had been relieved to find that his right leg had no further damage, aside from some cuts and bruising, but his left leg… his left femur was broken from the impact.

If- no, Chase commanded himself- _when_ House was out of the ICU, he was going to have one hell of a recovery.

* * *

Wilson watched Chase work, fighting tears. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't _fair. _The instant that House had something to be happy about, the very _moment _he was fighting for a chance to become better, he was struck down. Not for the first time, Wilson wondered where God was in House's life.

Cuddy joined him about twenty minutes later. She'd physically escaped from the ER doctors, all intent on treating their dean, to get there.

Tears were streaming down her face as she watched Chase try to put House back together. She gripped Wilson's hand tightly, choking on her sobs.

Chase, after what seemed like days later, finally turned to the only family House had and gave them a 'thumbs up'. House was stable, and holding on by a slightly larger thread.

Half an hour later, the last nurse left Cuddy and Wilson alone in House's ICU room.

"We should just put his name on this door, too," Wilson half joked, staring at his sleeping friend. "He's been in here at least as much as his office."

Cuddy wasn't smiling; but then again, neither was Wilson.

House was out cold. A tube was assisting his breathing, because of the lung. His entire chest was bandaged up, and his left leg was in a brace. House had come close to regaining consciousness earlier; Chase had reset the break manually, and House hadn't been happy about it, even in his drugged state.

At the moment, he was heavily sedated.

Cuddy's arm was aching distantly, but she hardly felt it. The only pain she noticed was the one that her fiancé was putting her through.

"He's going to be okay, Cuddy," Wilson assured her gently, trying to comfort both her and himself with his words. "Chase did well."

As if he'd heard his name called, Chase showed up in that moment, as did Foremen and Taub.

The three of them were silent for a long time, taking in the scene.

Cuddy was tear-streaked, in her undershirt, bloodstained, and holding House's unconscious hand. Wilson wasn't looking much better. The man seemed to have aged ten years in just a few hours- his eyes were rimmed with red and his hair was no longer in it's usual, perpetual state of 'pretty'.

Foreman was the first to speak up. "How is he?"

Cuddy didn't seem to hear him, so Wilson took over. "He's… stable."

Chase rubbed the back of his neck with the same hand that had just been immersed in House's innards for the last two hours. "I did the best I could, but there was a lot of damage to his torso. His left leg, too…"

The mood of the room, if possible, got lower than before with the thought of House wheelchair bound. Him doing it for a parking space wasn't hard to believe. Him doing it for a day because his leg wasn't working for him was hard to grasp, but conceivable. House rolling around in a chair for weeks on end because _neither _of his legs were in proper working order was a horrible thought that none of them wanted to process.

Taub cleared his throat, wishing to escape the room. "We do have a patient, so I'm going to go finish the tests we discussed earlier…"

He was still mumbling excuses as he walked out of the room.

Foreman drifted out soon after, in much the same fashion, but Chase remained. House, put simply, looked terrifyingly awful. He was pale and gritty and had the sickly glow of someone grievously injured. His tall frame was somewhat dwarfed by the extensive medical equipment all around him.

Chase felt awfully close to his breaking point, and had the distinct feeling that he wanted to go out and get hammered and forget everything. However, that wasn't yet an option, so instead he stood in front of his unconscious, broken boss until he felt himself begin to shake.

A hand was on his shoulder a moment later, and Chase swallowed. "You did good, Chase," Wilson assured him, squeezing slightly. "He's going to be okay."

As a surgeon, and as a doctor on House's team, Chase knew how little value that platitudes really held. None the less, the reassuring words of the oncologist kept him together long enough to turn and walk out the doors.

* * *

Time seemed to drag on forever. Cuddy remained silent, holding House's hand. Her eyes were curiously glazed and unseeing, something that disturbed Wilson greatly.

He finally spoke up, trying to break the horrible silence that had fallen upon the room, punctured only by the sounds of the machines that were keeping House alive. There were many things he wanted to ask her, questions mostly about what she was going to do with Rachel while House was in recovery, but, knowing the danger of prodding those issues, he stuck with something simple.

Cuddy had been holding a small thermos in her hand the entire time, almost like a security blanket. Wilson wasn't sure where it had come from or why she had it, but she seemed intent on not letting it go.

"Where did that thermos come from?" he asked.

Cuddy didn't seem to register that he had spoken, and he let the silence drag on for a long moment. He was about to repeat himself when Cuddy's voice pierced the hush.

"He angled the car, Wilson," she told him, her voice flat and nearly toneless. Though he was thrown by the sequitur, Wilson didn't say anything in return.

"He saw the truck heading for us. It was coming on my side. He flipped the car almost completely around."

Silent tears tracked down her face. "He probably saved my life."

**I'm writing this chapter at 2 am, on a Monday, while eating the generic version of Coco Pebbles with a giant spoon because we are out of clean silverware. Please, be nice to me. *pitiful, sleep deprived look***


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi guys. I'm just going to put this out there- you people are awesome.**

**There. Just thought I'd let you know. **

Nearly an hour after that outburst, Cuddy finally wiped the tears from her eyes and picked up her phone to call Marina. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with Rachel.

"Marina?" Wilson heard Cuddy say shakily. "Yeah, I'm okay. I know I sound upset, I am. Listen, could you do me a favor…?"

She finally stood and drifted out of the room to complete the call in the hallway, and Wilson set down the file that he'd been trying- and failing- to read. Someone needed to call House's mother, before he woke up and told them not to. Determinedly, Wilson pulled out his own cell phone.

"Blythe? Yes, it's James. It's nice to talk hear from you as well. Yes, I know House hasn't called in a while, but Blythe…"

Wilson trailed off, wondering how best to convey the news. Most importantly, he needed to tell her about the accident. The engagement could wait until she got here. "House… he and Lisa got into a car accident."

There was a burst of incoherent shrieking on the phone, and he held it away from his ear for a moment until the noise quieted. "He's stable, and Lisa's pretty much unhurt. No, he just got out of surgery a few hours ago. He's asleep."

Blythe asked if he'd been awake enough to ask for James to call her, and Wilson shifted guiltily. "No, he didn't ask me to. I just figured you should know."

After assuring him that she _always _wanted to know about her son's health, and that she'd be on a plane to Princeton in a few hours, they said their goodbyes and Wilson hung up.

He looked at House for a long moment, finally chuckling reluctantly.

"You're going to kill me when she shows up."

HHHHHH

House was floating. He felt like he was in a pool on a warm day, on top of a floatie, basking in the sun's rays and enjoying the cool water.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and eventually he found himself sinking.

The first thing he was aware of, upon returning to the world, was that he was…

Choking. Something was in his throat.

Being a doctor, he rationally knew what it was. He must have had to have been intubated. A blind panic over took him, a natural instinct; when you can't breathe, your first and only thought is to find your way to oxygen.

"House, House, relax!" a voice commanded him sternly. "Cough. Cough! It'll come out."

House feebly coughed, feeling the tube slide out of his trachea. When it was finally free, he breathed shallowly, panic clear in his face. Now that he could take in air, the next most important issue overrode his brain. His leg.

Wilson watched unhappily as House's hand found his right leg, grabbing onto it like some sort of life line. He knew that losing it was a recurring nightmare that House had, and it wasn't hard to imagine why.

His heart beat and respirations slowed considerably after he was sure his limb was still there. His hand found his chest and pressed against it tenderly, palm flat and fingers spread wide.

Wilson watched his stats like a hawk, but all seemed to be going okay. They'd chosen to let him wake naturally, but he was still under a mild anesthetic to keep the pain down as much as they could.

It was the day after the crash, and neither Cuddy nor Wilson had left the hospital, choosing instead to be there for their friend. Blythe had arrived and waiting beside the bed anxiously, wringing her hands in her lap.

When House finally calmed down enough for rational thinking, he opened his eyes. Cuddy was slightly dismayed to see them fuzzy and slightly unfocused- House hated his mind being tampered with, and the drugs they had him on were going to make him a little out of it for at least a few days.

"Mom?" he questioned, his voice dry from the intubation. His mother was the first person he laid eyes on, so naturally, she was the first one addressed.

"Oh, Greg," she cried, gathering him into a gentle hug and squeezing his arms; the best she could do under the circumstances. "Honey, how are you feeling?"

House's eyes traveled over his mom's shoulder, settling on Wilson. The oncologist was looking pretty guilty at the moment. "I'm okay. Really, mom. Did Wilson call you?"

"Yes, dear, James let me know yesterday, and I flew right in. He said you and Lisa got into a car accident."

House glared at Wilson openly, but his mother seemed not to notice. "Yeah, we did. But, as you can see, I'm perfectly _fine._"

He put emphasis on the last word, sending mental daggers at his best friend.

Then a horrible thought entered his mind. "Cuddy! Where's Cuddy?" he questioned frantically, his face paling.

Wilson stepped to the side, revealing Cuddy to House. His eyes took her in quickly, assessing all damage.

"Lisa."

Cuddy got up and sat on the edge of his bed, taking his hand in hers. "I'm here."

"I was afraid you…"

"Nope. I got off easy. Just a few scratches and bruises."

House relaxed visibly, letting out a relieved sigh. However, his nimble fingers skittered up and down her bandaged arm, as if it would allow him to see through the bandages. His fingers finally settled next to a cut on her face, held together with a butterfly bandage.

"Does that hurt?" he asked her seriously.

Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. Wilson was staring at his friend, open mouthed. He'd never seen House this attentive and enamored with _anyone, _including Stacy.

"House, you're an idiot. You've got three broken ribs and a punctured lung, and you're asking if I'm okay," Cuddy chided him. She avoided mentioning the left leg; he needed to be calmer for _that_ news.

"Cuddy, I'm fine. Just a bit… fuzzy, actually. What am I on?" He hoped it wasn't morphine, or vicodin. It made his head less clear than normal, but he'd deal for a short while.

Cuddy told him the drug, watching his puzzled face fade to one of understanding. "Ah. Okay."

House felt at his chest again, his fingers dancing over the bandages. The other three were silent as he processed the condition he was in.

"Okay, Wilson, my throat hurts. Water?"

Wilson smiled slightly, handing him a cup full of cold water from a pitcher. He raised it to his mouth lethargically, already losing the energy he'd had after first waking up.

He drained it and sat it down. "Cuddy, you need to go home-" he began, but Cuddy cut him off, resting a finger on his lips. She was careful to avoid the small lacerations that decorated his face from the glass; he was clean shaven for once and it felt odd to touch him without his stubble. "I'm not going anywhere."

He frowned at her, taking her hand off of his mouth gently. "Rachel?"

"With Marina. She took her up here to visit yesterday and earlier today."

House sighed. "You look like you took a field trip to a butcher factory," he stated with his usual delicacy. It was partially true. Cuddy's white tank top was spattered with small drops of copper-red dried blood.

"So I'll shower and change into some scrubs. For now, I'm here."

House smiled slightly at her, his eyes going to Wilson. "You and I are going to have a talk, Jimmy boy," he threatened, lightening sparking in his eyes."

Wilson baked up a step, but Blythe chided her son gently. "Now, now, Greg. James was nice enough to call me, something I'm not sure you would have done yourself. You never seem to tell me when you're injured."

House looked away, and Cuddy thought she caught a flash of pain in his eyes before he glared at the ceiling. "Well, anyway. Are you staying in a hotel, or my place..?" he questioned finally, hoping she'd pick the hotel. His apartment was a disaster.

"I'm getting a hotel tonight, dear," she answered him promptly, patting his cheek. "Well, if you're feeling okay, I'm going to go and get some lunch. I'll see you in an hour or so honey."

House was a funny man to watch when he was with his mother. Normally so bitter and sarcastic, the man seemed to keep it G rated around her. It was quite hilarious to watch. Wilson sniggered as his stricken expression when his mother placed a big kiss on his forehead.

The laughter abated as soon as Blythe left the room, however. As soon as her flower patterned blouse disappeared, House sagged under an invisible weight.

Cuddy squeezed his arm gently as his eyes fluttered. He needed rest, but she needed to know if the pain killer he was on was enough.

"House? Give me a pain rating."

He grunted, grimacing. "Cuddy I just want to sleep."

"I know, and you will, as soon as I get a rating. And don't lie to me. That heart monitor is as good as a lie detector."

He sighed, the corners of his eyes scrunching up at the strain placed on his chest. "My chest hurts, my throat hurts, and both my legs hurt…"

He trailed off, opening his eyes. "Wait. Both my legs hurt. Why...?"

Cuddy winced as he pulled the covers off of his left leg, exposing the brace.

He fell back on the pillows, closing his eyes. "God dammit."

"It was a simple fracture to the femur. Chase put it back manually."

"You had Chase on the team?" he asked Wilson sharply, eyeing him.

"Yeah, because he's probably the only surgeon in the hospital that wouldn't drop a Junior Mint into your innards."

"Are you kidding? He probably left the entire box in there…"

He closed his eyes again, bringing his palms up to dig into the sockets. "Fuck. Just… fuck. I'm an idiot."

"No you aren't, House," Cuddy responded. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I shouldn't have been driving at all."

"You did better in that situation than most people would have done with two perfectly healthy legs," she said firmly. "What happened was _not _your fault. The truck driver was drunk."

She could see that he didn't believe her, and she mentally cursed herself for being so uptight about the leg before all of it had happened. "House, if anything, you saved my life."

He stared at her, blue eyes wide. "Of course I did. Are you insane?"

Whatever she'd been expecting, that was not it. "Huh?"

"You really are an idiot. You think I would have just let that thing hit you?" he asked her, incredulous. "Come on, Cuddy, you know better than that. You're worth twelve of me, no contest."

He really seemed to believe it, too. Wilson was staring at him open mouthed, hands halfway to his hips.

For as long as he'd known him, House had seemed convinced that he was the king of humanity, above all the meaningless morons that walked the planet. This kind of… humility… was just plain unheard of. House wasn't humble. House took advantage of any perceived kindness on his part and used it until it was dry.

The older doctor's face was baffled as Cuddy hugged him and sobbed into his chest. "Cuddy? Why are you-"

His question was cut off rather forcefully by Cuddy's lips meeting his. He fell into it instantly, his hands finding her hair and tangling into it.

Wilson cleared his throat, stepping awkwardly backwards. "Riiiiight…. I'm just gonna… go grab a bite to eat. See you two later."

They didn't acknowledge him as he slid out the door, and he smiled to himself.

**Okay, y'all, listen here. I'm taking suggestions and prompts for oneshot writing, anything for House that I find interesting. Leave any suggestions you have in a review or pm me with your ideas.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for all the great suggestions.**

**And, to that one commenter who commented in Spanish: Soy Harper Penn y gracias! Agradezco las amables palabras! (Please excuse me for my horrible Spanish.)**

House was the first to pull away from the kiss, but not because he wanted to. A cough bubbled out of him, and he had to lean away and cover his mouth.

Cuddy's endorphins faded as she watched House cough and wheeze. He tried to brace his chest as he coughed; it was obviously quite painful to his damaged body.

Cuddy handed him another glass of water, her eyebrows forming a concerned- if silent-line.

Finally, he stopped coughing, his eyes watery. "Well… damn," he murmured, falling back on the raised pillow and breathing shallowly to avoid another fit.

"You're in for a long recovery," Cuddy finally said, placing a cool hand on his forehead.

House closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. For a long moment, he was silent.

Then, he opened one blue eye, looking mischievously at Cuddy. A half smirk crossed his face.

"Lie with me?" he invited her casually, gesturing to the open space on the bed grandly.

Cuddy smiled at him in return. At the moment, she couldn't have cared less about work ethics, the medical board, or anything else that might have kept her from her fiancé.

"Scoot over."

He did his best to move a few inches, huffing at the effort. Cuddy crawled into the bed happily. She was exhausted, not really having slept at all since the accident.

She carefully cuddled up next to him, taking care not to bump his chest or IV or any other piece of medical equipment attached to him, or her own arm. From an outside perspective, it probably didn't look very comfortable. But on the inside, this was the most at peace she'd been since they'd been hit.

House draped an arm over her shoulders, resting his head sideways on hers. She giggled as he lowered the bed slowly, gradually changing her view from the front of the room to the ceiling.

Lulled by his warmth and scent, Cuddy drifted off immediately.

House inhaled as much as he could without risking coughing, sighing contentedly.

He was out cold in less than thirty seconds, letting the drugs and the exhaustion claim him.

* * *

House's ducklings converged down the hall from his room, arguing amongst themselves.

"Chase, even if he _is_ still awake, he's going to be in one hell of a mood," Foreman growled at the Aussie doctor.

Chase was all in favor of seeing their boss; Wilson had seen them on his way to the lunchroom and had informed them that the older doctor had woken up. He had warned them, however, that House probably wouldn't be in a 'talking mood', whatever that meant.

Taub shrugged. "Seriously, Chase, I don't understand why you want to go in there. Odds are he's just going to be pissed of and jump down your throat."

Chase shook his head. "You two are just scarred of him."

Foreman crinkled his brow, staring at Chase like he'd sprouted a second head. "Hell yeah, I am! He's going to be in massive amounts of pain, with a not so massive amount of drugs in his system. I don't want to be anywhere near that."

Chase rolled his eyes. "How scary can he be? He can't even walk."

"A broken femur isn't going to shut his mouth."

Chase glared at the pair of them. "I'm going. I don't care if you come or not."

True to his word, Chase whirled around and strode into House's room.

His two companions could see nothing of the room, but Chase turned around almost immediately and hurried out of the room, a huge smile on his face. "Guys. Come look at this."

The two followed him cautiously, but soon, they too were smiling.

"Please tell me you have a camera," Taub whispered, trying not to laugh.

Cuddy and House were dead asleep on the bed. House's arm was over Cuddy's shoulders, his head resting on hers. His mouth was partially open, soft snores emanating. Cuddy was breathing deeply, her face angled into House's neck.

Foreman snapped a quick photo with his cell phone, the other two following suit. "Oh, man, this is gonna be some sweet blackmail material," he sniggered.

A small gasp behind them made them all whirl around guiltily. An older woman that Chase and Foreman recognized as House's mother was standing in the doorway with a hand over her mouth in astonishment.

"Well, isn't that the most precious thing you've ever seen?" she gushed affectionately, albeit quietly. "My little Gregory, all curled up with that lovely young lady!"

Foreman tried very hard not to laugh, unsuccessfully attempting to marshal his facial features into something acceptable for a doctor. "Mrs. House," he greeted, smiling.

Blythe sighed happily, having only eyes for her son. "Let's talk outside, Eric. Robert, it's nice to see you again as well. Doctor…?"

Taub supplied with her name, trying not to stare too hard at House's mother. Somehow, he'd just never envisioned someone as prickly as House having a doting mom, but she seemed pretty normal. How she'd spawned someone like House was beyond him at the moment.

* * *

Blythe sat herself on an outside bench, folding her hands in her lap. She was very poised and polite… the exact opposite of her son.

"How have you boys been?" she asked, in that genuine manner that only older people could pull off. "Have you been behaving yourselves?"

Chase smiled, seating himself in a chair next to the bench and pulling it in front of her. Foreman and Taub did the same, keen to talk to the woman who'd been around House when he was just a child.

"We've been well, Mrs. House," Chase assured her. "How have you been fairing?"

"Oh, I can't complain. Now, Robert, I'm told you were the one that preformed the surgery on my boy."

Chase blushed. "Uh… yeah, I was."

"Thank you," she expressed seriously, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, "for saving my son."

Chase cleared his throat. "It was nothing."

Foreman was busy smirking at Chase, but Blythe focused her efforts on him next. "How is he, seriously? The man wouldn't give me a straight answer about his health if someone paid him."

It was Foreman's turn to become uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do here. Technically, he wasn't House's doctor. But Wilson had shared what their boss's condition was with them, and it was his _mom. _

But then came the question of whether or not to sugarcoat the answer. Should he tell her the straight facts, or give her platitudes?

Foreman suddenly realized who he was talking to. This was _House's _mother. If the two were anything alike, she wouldn't appreciate being coddled.

"He's… he's stable, Mrs. House," he finally settled on, glancing toward the doctor in question. "But his injuries are severe. It's going to be a long recovery."

Blythe nodded, but suddenly her grave face brightened. "So, am I to assume that those two are dating?" she questioned the three fellows eagerly.

They looked at each other, at a slight loss. House's mother didn't even know he was dating, let alone _engaged_.

Chase was the first to crack the silence. "Uh, yeah. For a while now."

Blythe frowned fondly. "I swear, he never tells me anything. If he weren't hospitalized I'd scold him."

Taub tried not to snicker at the image of House being chided by this older woman.

The three silently agreed not to yet throw their boss under the bus. They would at least give him a chance to explain the situation to his mother before they did it for him.

After a few more minutes of polite conversation, the three excused themselves to their lunch break.

Chase pulled away from the other two, choosing to eat on his own. A question had popped into his head the moment he'd seen Blythe, and he wanted to think about things alone for a while. He bought his lunch, sat down, and began to eat.

He shook his head as he munched on his lunch. The mere fact that Blythe had not noticed the engagement ring meant that she wasn't where House's perceptiveness and attention to detail had come from. Then again, he did distinctly remember House labeling her as a 'human polygraph' when his parents had come to visit so long ago.

It seemed that House simply didn't want to lie to his own mother. It was ironic; a man that had no problem lying to everyone else in his life apparently made it a priority to be truthful to his mother, or at least to avoid situations in which he'd be forced to lie.

It made him wonder where House _had _gained his strange genius. He thought about House's father, who he'd only met once, as he took a sip of his soda. He didn't think House had gotten much from his father. House had seemed to hate the man. When he had died, it was only further expressed to everyone around him that he wanted nothing to do with his father, even after death.

Chase, at first, had been annoyed with House's tendency to ignore his parents and his tenseness with his father. House, at least to Chase's new eyes, had seemed to have exactly what he hadn't; parents that cared about him. A father that was willing to visit his son. A mother that obviously loved him. Chase had been disgusted with the way that House tried to wriggle out of a simple meal with his parents.

Then, he'd met the man's father. John House had been a strict, no nonsense military man. He was ridged and defined by his rules, everything House wasn't. Chase had immediately disliked him.

Something clicked into Chase's mind in that moment. House's father. House's _father! _Of course! It made sense now that he thought about it.

House had been abused, Chase was sure of it. It all fit. House, now that he was thinking in the right direction, showed textbook signs of childhood abuse by his dad.

Warning signs that House had shown floated around in Chase's head, and he was slightly ashamed of himself. How could he claim to be an important member of House's team, a team that was all about solving mysteries, if it had taken him this long to 'diagnose' his boss?

Chase went over the signs of an abused child in his head, thinking back to his early training. He knew that one issue abuse victims had was forming trust and lasting relationships. That sentence practically _screamed _House. The man seemed to trust very few people, and everyone knew how his relationship with Stacy had ended up. It wasn't hard to imagine that House had learned not to trust at a young age.

Another was that the abuse victim felt damaged, or worthless. Though House displayed a seemingly narcissistic personality, Chase knew different from spending so much time with him. The man, put simply, didn't find himself up to snuff. He'd accomplished so much, and yet he was constantly angry with himself over small failures. He'd pushed Stacy away from him, much to his team's dismay. Only later had Chase figured out that House hadn't thought he'd make her happy enough, that he'd make her miserable.

It was displayed in other aspects of his personality, too. House never seemed to grasp what an effect he had on the medical community. Sure, he knew he was kind of a big deal. What he didn't understand was that every article he printed and every seminary he attended was flocked by those in the medical profession that held his word as law. In the early days of his fellowship, before others had come along, Chase had gone through House's mail. The number of job offers and grant invitations had been staggering.

Once, he'd asked House about them. This had been before Cameron, and before Foreman. He'd simply walked into House's office, feeling bold at the time, and plopped a large pile of letters on his desk.

"Do you even _look _at these?" Chase had asked incredulously.

House had peered over his readers at him, looking up from the medical journal he'd been scouring. "That's what you're for, slave. Now back to work, those aren't going to shred themselves."

Chase hadn't backed down, though at the time he'd been terrified of being fired. "Seriously, Dr. House. I can't believe you'd refuse some of these offers, if you'd just _look._"

House had just rolled his eyes. "I'm happy here. Better yet, I have a boss that can stand me. Why would I risk that? Now back to work, and leave me alone until at least tomorrow."

Chase had shaken his head and left, thinking the man crazy at the time. But, now that he gave it more thought, he was stunned that he hadn't seen it. House truly didn't believe that there were other opportunities out there for him, and it was sad.

The third, and most telling, sign that someone had been abused was trouble regulating emotions, by stuffing them down and letting them explode at random times. That was House, alright.

Chase could easily see why. As a child, if you're constantly fearing for your safety, or fearing that someone might find out about the abuse, you rarely are able to share your feelings. That's a habit that gets transferred into adulthood. A fear of getting hurt made House keep his true emotions, at least the more tender ones, in check.

Chase shuddered. It was understandable. With the mom he'd had, he'd had to grow up much to fast. As a kid he'd had to take care of his drunken mother. Now, he could see in himself a kind of blockage, a tendency to keep from forming real relationships. It was a fear- a small, black, disturbing fear- that any relationship he had would fall into one like his dad had had with his mum.

House probably had the same feeling as a perspective parent- What if he turned out to be just like his dad?

Chase's apatite had vanished at that point. He ruefully pushed aside his tray.

**Sorry to derail again, but my plot line is about as straight as my headphones after I pull them out of my pocket. (Not straight at all, in other words; it usually looks like they attempted to have some form of intense headphone sex. The knots are ridiculous.)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow. Sorry it took me so horrendously long to update guys. I just got back to civilization from the wilds of my grandparent's house. There computer was... how shall I put this. It was slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through jello. There you go, nice visual. **

Wilson yawned, stretching his arms over his head as he finished up his lunch. He was exhausted from the last few days.

Things seemed to have come to a standstill with House. The man was by no means in a good position health wise, but he was a lot better off than he had been. At the moment, he wasn't in immediate danger of dying in his sleep.

Wilson dumped his tray and headed back up to the room. He was interested in what had happened after he'd gone; it was a toss up between Cuddy drugging House so she could get some peace and quiet, or them having passionate sex right on House's hospital bed.

He was slightly alarmed to see Blythe outside of the room, reading. She looked up from her book and smiled at him as he approached. "James. Did you have a good lunch?"

"It was okay. Why are you out here, Blythe?"

"Oh, I was just giving Greg some privacy. He and that lovely young lady Lisa looked to be having quite the time."

Wilson's mouth flopped open. He sincerely hoped that Blythe hadn't walked in on his best friend and his boss going at it, but that's what she seemed to be implying.

He hurried to the window of the room and peeked in the blinds.

What he saw both stunned and pleased him. He smiled at the sight of his friend _cuddling _with Cuddy, dead to the world.

"I'm glad he's getting rest. And Cuddy too, come to think of it. She needs it almost as much as he does."

"That's true, but what about yourself, James dear? You look like you could use a good night's sleep."

It wasn't just polite conversation. He _was_ exhausted. Now that House seemed in a good place, he could slip home and pass out on his bed.

"Yeah, I could. I think I'm going to do that. I'd ask my boss, but…"

He smiled, showing that he was joking. "Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow, Blythe. Tell House I said to behave."

"Always, James."

* * *

Blythe watched Wilson make his way out of the hospital, smiling to herself. James seemed to care so much about her son. She was glad he had someone he could really count on in his life.

* * *

A nurse came in two hours later to check House's vitals. Imagine her surprise when she walked in to find the dean of medicine lain out beside the most cantankerous doctor in the hospital.

"Uh…" she said uncertainly, wondering how she'd had the bad fortune to be picked as House's nurse. "Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy started awake, then blushed furiously at the position she was in. She wriggled out of House's grasp, standing and straightening her skirt. She cleared her throat.

"Good afternoon, Nurse Gina," Cuddy coughed, fixing her hair.

Gina smiled uncertainly, not sure what she was supposed to say in a situation like this. "Afternoon. I'm here for a vitals check."

Cuddy glanced at House, who was currently dead to the world. "I've got it, thanks," she replied, not so much a courtesy as a demand. They were understaffed on nurses as it was, and the last thing she needed was House driving another one away with his less than sociable demeanor.

True to her word, Cuddy woke House as soon as the nurse left. She gently thumbed his face and kissed him lightly on the lips.

His eyes opened in a matter of moments. "Ah, the alarm clock of the gods," he joked feebly. Cuddy could see a dark pain in his eyes as the anesthesia from the surgery finally began to wear off. Obviously the drugs they had him on weren't cutting it.

She twisted her mouth ruefully, holding up a thermometer. "Vitals check."

"Oh, joy. My favorite part of being in the ICU. You know, you'd think that the nurses would _want _a person to get some rest, but no. I get woken up every fifteen minutes so someone can poke me."

Cuddy ignored his musings. "How much pain are you in right now?"

House grimaced at her, raising the bed. "Would you just do the vitals check?"

"House."

He stared up at the ceiling.

"House, don't make me get Wilson."

"Wilson doesn't want me on any more drugs than I'm on already. And if he's not in the room, he's gone home to sleep anyway."

"You aren't on anything addictive, Greg."

House closed his eyes, his hand unconsciously straying to his leg. "No."

"Just give me a rating."

"I'm _fine._"

"House!"

"Cuddy, just let it go!"

Contrary to his placating words, House was trembling with the effort of not coughing. His chest was killing him, not to mention his legs.

Cuddy was seething. "I'm brining your team in here. _They _can tell you what a moron you're being. Oh, and your mother too."

"Lisa, please."

Cuddy, half way out the door, paused at his tone and closed her eyes. Without turning around, she spoke, her voice tight with strain.

"House, seeing you in pain makes me upset. Don't _tell _me you're _fine._ Stop _lying _to me."

House swallowed, looking at the way her shoulders were tensed up. She left the room without another word.

House's mother entered a moment later. She sat down in one of the chairs, folding her hands and gazing at him silently.

House fidgeted under her x-ray vision. One trait they shared was the ability to make others squirm.

"Gregory House. Why are you being so difficult?"

House frowned at his mother. "I'm not being _difficult," _he corrected her, enunciating the last word carefully. "I'm being stubborn. There is a difference."

"They're synonyms in my book," his mother replied promptly.

At that moment, his team filed in one by one. They could all clearly see that the loving House they'd gotten a brief glimpse of earlier was gone, replaced by a colder, harder version.

Chase was the first to speak up. "So…"

House's ice cold glare stopped his words and sent them scrambling to get back inside the Aussie's mouth.

Foremen was slightly more daring, and so was the next to speak. "Nice to see you awake. Finally."

House cocked his jaw. Cuddy still hadn't returned, which meant she was giving him some alone time with his team. That could work to his advantage.

"If any of you try to drug me, you're fired."

Taub seemed unimpressed. "Dr. Cuddy said if we _don't, _we're fired, and she's got the final say on that one."

House sneered. "I don't want to be drugged out of my head for who knows how long. Get out."

Chase picked up House's chart, feeling bold. "Well, technically, I'm your doctor, since I performed the surgery. So I don't have to get out."

"I'm refusing treatment."

"I'll get a suicide watch placed on you and have an orderly put you in restraints," Chase countered.

House paled, pupils contracting. "You wouldn't dare."

Foremen laughed, not quite grasping how badly Chase's threat had scared House. "Oh, please. You know they'd tie you to the bed in a heartbeat. Hell, they'd probably fall over themselves trying to get in here."

House swallowed. The mere thought of being restrained was sending shivers through his body. His childhood, repressed for so long, had been violently wrenched up by the recent events, and memories pounded on his consciousness. His time at Mayfield had only strengthened his phobia of being tied down.

With horror, Chase recognized the faint beginnings of a panic attack in his boss. "But we won't have to if you'll just let us up the dosage."

House tried to control his breathing. If possible, being drugged out of his mind while he was at another person's mercy was worse. He didn't have many fears, but that was certainly one of them. Waking up with a mutilated leg will do that to you.

He shook his head. "No."

"House!" Foremen exploded, getting agitated with his boss's stubbornness.

The reaction was immediate and hard to miss. Immersed as he was with memories of his violent father, and on edge from the amount of pain he was in, House flinched.

It was small, but all four of them noticed it. Taub's mouth hung open. Chase blinked in surprise. Foreman's eyes widened at his boss's reaction.

"I don't want it. Just get out," House practically pleaded. His knuckles were white as he grasped his leg; all the moving around had sent it into a spasm. His eyes refused to meet any of them. Instead, they looked down at his lap.

Chase jerked his head at the other two, motioning them out.

"Mrs. House, could we have a moment?" he requested politely. Blythe nodded and quickly left the room with Taub and Foreman.

Chase sat down beside House's bed, preparing himself for the long haul.

"Is your leg spasming?" Chase questioned House quietly, gently.

House was gritting his teeth. The arm that was gripping his thigh was shaking, along with the IV lines attached to it. He didn't answer.

Without another word, Chase plugged in a heating pad and handed it to his boss. He'd seen House do much the same thing on rainy days, or nights where he stayed up to work on a case.

House pressed it into the protesting muscle, relaxing slightly as it eased the pain somewhat.

Chase stayed silent, waiting for House to make the first move.

It was a few minutes before House looked up. His eyes were tired.

"I'm not suicidal."

"I know," Chase replied. "But you are refusing to let us treat you. You'd be doing the same to any one of our patients."

"No, I wouldn't, because pain isn't a disease. It's just pain."

Chase stared at him. "You really believe that? You really believe that pain shouldn't be treated?"

House sighed, his left hand finding his chest and bracing it for the movement. No, he didn't believe that. He knew enough about pain to know it was just as bad as any disease, and in some cases, worse. Not only did it eat away at you physically, it destroyed your soul, piece by little piece.

"I wouldn't restrain a patient if I already knew what was wrong with them. Car crash, end of story."

"You're missing the point," Chase told him swiftly. "Your worrying Cuddy. Hell, you're worrying your mom. Why can't you just let us lessen the pain for a while?"

House stared at him. "My mind's all I have, Chase. I don't want to let someone take that away from me."

"No, you're just afraid of getting knocked out in a hospital again, and handing over the controls," Chase corrected him. "You don't want another Stacy."

House didn't look at him, instead deciding to fiddle with the edge of his blanket.

Chase decided to give it everything he had. "I won't let anyone do anything you don't specifically approve of, House," he said matter-of-factly. "If I did, you'd fire me, and if you died, I wouldn't have a job. So that's that."

House chuckled weakly. "Smooth talker, pretty boy. You know how to twist my arm."

"So is that a yes?"

House swallowed, glancing up at the window of his hospital room. Cuddy was standing outside, looking at him worriedly.

He nodded shortly at Chase.

Chase reached over to up the dosage on his meds, but House's hand grabbed his arm. "Until tomorrow morning, and that's it. Tone it back down then, and I'll say if I need more."

Chase nodded. House's hand slowly let him go, falling back on the bed.

As soon as the meds took effect, House dropped like a stone. He wouldn't be waking up for a while.

Cuddy's shoulders sunk in relief.

**It's done and I can't say I'm proud of it. But, there you go. **

**I've begun another oneshot as well, to be posted soon. It's inspired by my friend pkfloyd92. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Trying to get chapters out consistently is a lot like trying to run from a hungry T-Rex while wearing scuba flippers; probably futile and morbidly hilarious to anyone watching you scramble around.**

Cuddy sighed in relief as she watched House pass out. She'd seen the amount of pain he was in, even if he was denying it. His heart rate had been way too high and he'd been sweating profusely.

Now, though, he was safely asleep.

Cuddy looked at Chase thoughtfully. The young blonde doctor was sprawled out on the chair, his eyes closed.

She walked in, conscious of the fact that she was wearing a not very professional looking ensemble; she'd showered briefly and changed into scrubs. However, she was in here as a friend, not as a boss, at least for the moment, and friends didn't need to look professional for each other.

"Thank you, Chase," she expressed sincerely, sitting down next to him and tucking her hair behind her ears. "I'm not sure what you said, but it worked."

Chase's eyes met hers after a long moment. His were full of disbelief. "Cuddy, he was scared out of his mind. You must have been able to see that."

Guilt flooded through her. No, she hadn't seen that. She'd only seen a stubborn man that refused to listen to reason. "What do you mean?"

Chase shook his head, eyes on his boss. "He was freaking out; you could see it in his face. We came in here to try to convince him, right? So the first thing out of my mouth was that we'd have an orderly come in and restrain him so we could give him the sedative. I was mostly just trying to get him to give in, but… Jesus. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack."

Cuddy closed her eyes. That was entirely her fault. She'd basically threatened to fire them if they didn't get House to give in. That was unfair in itself, but at the time she'd been desperate. Unfortunately, her threats had spurned them into frightening House with something that undoubtedly reminded him of his childhood.

Chase kept talking, needing to get everything off his chest. "Then Foremen got mad and raised his voice. House _flinched. House. _The guy who stuck a thermometer up a cop's ass, the one who constantly gets into bar fights, who habitually drives patients into punching him to get a diagnosis. He was shaking like a leaf."

Cuddy swallowed thickly. Again, her fault. If she'd just convinced him on her own…

"I sent Taub and Foremen and his mom out so I could try to convince him on my own. You know what I think he was afraid of, Dr. Cuddy? I think he was terrified that if we knocked him out he'd wake up without a leg or something. I had no _clue _he was affected that much by what Stacy did."

Chase was sitting stock still, in shock. "I finally talked him into it by saying I wouldn't let anything happen to him. _I _reassured _him. _I never thought… well, you know. I never thought _House _would need reassurance. He's this, I don't know, all powerful, 'I'm always right' kind of guy, or at least I thought he was. But the more time I spend around him, the more I realize he doesn't think he's worth a damn thing."

Cuddy pushed back tears. Now was _not _the time to cry.

Chase snorted. "He's just a guy, you know? We get so caught up in seeing him as some infallible medical genius, as a cold hearted bastard, we forget he's human too. He's got fears like everyone else."

Silence rang after Chase's sad words. Cuddy reached out and held House's hand, thumbing it gently.

"Chase…" Cuddy began, unsure how she could approach the subject without giving things away. "He's working on it. I'm working on it with him. Believe it or not, he's not the asshole he acts like. He really does care about us. You, me, Wilson, the rest of his team. He just doesn't know how to show it. He's afraid to let people in."

Chase looked at her again, his eyes hesitant and slightly pained. "Cuddy… did you ever think…"

He took a deep breath and pushed out his next question like fast ball. "Did you ever consider that he may have been abused as a kid?"

Cuddy stared at him. She stared at him for a long time, until he fidgeted and swallowed because he'd feared he'd angered her.

Then, she laughed. She sounded a little insane, to tell the truth. She laughed like she'd lost her mind, and Chase wondered in the back of his mind if she'd finally snapped and he needed to get _her_ a sedative.

"I can't believe you, Chase," she finally gasped, wiping very real, very sad tears out of her eyes. "You really are learning from him, I guess."

Chase wasn't sure what to say, so he did the natural thing. He stayed silent.

"You've known him since he hired you. And what, you figured this out today? I've known him for nearly three decades and I never guessed a thing. He had to tell me."

Chase didn't look too surprised. "He was, then? He told you?"

Cuddy was briefly worried she'd be violating House's privacy by telling Chase, but then again, he'd already decided for himself. And, contrary to what House might think, Chase wouldn't hold it against him, wouldn't see him as a weakling. House needed someone on his side. She swallowed her furious tears and sniffed. "Yeah, he told me."

Chase considered this for a long minute, staring at his boss. "His dad?"

"Yeah."

Chase closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck in a very Wilson-ish manner. "He shows classic signs. I'm an idiot for not seeing it sooner."

He glanced up at Cuddy, realizing what he'd said was very cutting to her. "Not that he makes it easy for anyone to see that in him. He pushes people away with a ten foot stick."

Cuddy snorted. "Don't make excuses for me. We're doctors; we've all done our psyche rotation."

Chase felt an immense sadness for the man sleeping in front of him. "He won't ask for help, Dr. Cuddy. You have to hold it out there and hope he takes it."

Cuddy smiled sadly. "I know. I'm going to try to get him into therapy when all this is over."

She suddenly felt a bit better. "I think he's working on it too, though. In his own way."

Chase looked at her sideways. "What makes you say that?"

"He let me take him to a chronic pain center last weekend. True, he wasn't happy about it, but he _did _let me. And he wasn't even rude to his doctor. I think he's learning that it's okay to reach out to people, Chase, and I'm glad."

Chase's expression was unreadable. He'd known House had been struggling with the increased pain after Mayfield. House hadn't said a word, but it only took a few times seeing him holding himself up on a table or limping more heavily to see the pain. Chase shook his head; it seemed like everyone had forgotten that House had a piece of muscle the size of a fist missing out of his thigh. Getting off vicodin had far from stopped the pain, but it had seemed like Wilson and Cuddy had stopped being his doctors a long time ago.

He was glad that House was finally getting the help he needed, but he wished it had happened sooner.

"Listen, Chase," Cuddy said, after a long moment of silence. "You can't ask House about anything we just discussed. He'd… Look, I know you'd never use any of this against him. But he'd feel like I'd abused his trust by sharing any of that with you. I'm not asking you to cover for me; I'm just asking you not to shatter House's sense of trust. It's fragile as it is; if he finds out we psychoanalyzed him behind his back he might shut down totally."

Chase narrowed his eyes. "I understand that, and I won't. But if you didn't want to abuse his trust, you shouldn't have said a word."

Cuddy's cheeks burned. "I know. I just wanted to share all of this with someone. It's a lot to carry by myself."

Chase's eyes softened. "I understand. But, Dr. Cuddy, you're doing a good job with him. You're helping him."

Cuddy looked stunned, but pleased, at his words. Chase continued, needing to make her see the importance of just what she was doing in House's life. "You're good for him, and he needs you. Please be there for him, Dr. Cuddy. If you leave his side, I don't think he'll ever bounce back. Promise me you won't."

Cuddy smiled. "I don't intend to. We're getting married, remember?"

Chase smiled in turn. "How could I forget? Do you have any plans for the wedding?"

The joy from Cuddy's face faded. "No. No, we haven't thought of any of the details. I mean, it was just a few days ago he proposed, and then the crash… I haven't even told my _mother. _Come to think of it, does Blythe know?"

Chase grinned. "She found out you two were dating just earlier today, so I don't think so. House is going to have fun telling her."

Cuddy wondered briefly why House hadn't told his mother he was dating her before. She felt kind of… hurt. But she pushed the thoughts and doubts away to be analyzed later; now wasn't the time or place for girly feelings of neglect.

"Well, obviously we're going to have to wait until he's healed," she finally sighed ruefully. "Him breaking his femur had to have hit him hard."

Chase pressed his lips into a thin line. "House, not being able to walk for six months at minimum. Sounds fun."

Cuddy's throat closed up. Six months. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

**I apologize profusely for the short chapter and the long wait. I've been sick the last few days, and this was the first time in days that I drug myself up to get on the computer. I promise, a new chapter will be coming shortly. I've got it written, I just need to touch up its make up and fluff its hair a bit. **


	16. Chapter 16

**As I'm writing this, I'm listening to Panic! at the Disco on my Pandora account. This chapter was finished faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. **

An hour or so later, Cuddy went home. House was now stable and asleep and definitely wouldn't miss her until tomorrow morning when Chase let him come out of his medically induced slumber. She needed to spend some time with her daughter, take a real shower, eat a good meal, and sleep through the night. Tomorrow she'd take another day off and take Rachel to visit House.

When she'd first had Marina bring Rachel to the hospital, she'd been worried about how to explain the delicacies of the situation to her. Rachel was a bright young girl, and she'd probably want to know exactly why her 'Hows' was hooked up to a thousand machines.

Sure enough, Rachel had seemed intimidated by all the medical equipment. She'd looked up at her mother with questioning eyes. "Hows hurt bad?" she questioned straightforwardly, just like a child.

Cuddy's eyes had filled with tears; this was way before House had woken up and his future was a lot less certain. "Yes, honey. House was hurt pretty badly."

"Sleeping?"

"He needs to sleep so he can heal, Rachel."

Rachel had frowned. "He's gonna be okay, right mommy?"

Cuddy didn't want to lie. She hadn't been sure at the time. However, Rachel was far too young to understand the concept of death. So she'd nodded her head and drawn her daughter into a hug, as much to comfort herself as her child.

She was relieved just thinking about it. House was going to be okay. He was going to live. She would never have to explain to her child why her father had died before he'd even begun the job of being a dad.

When she got home, Rachel ran into her arms laughing, just happy to see her mother after a few long days of almost total separation.

Cuddy picked her up and smiled at Marina gratefully. "Marina, thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Marina smiled. "Of course, Lisa."

Her face grew serious. "Now, you can't tell him I asked, but is that man of yours alright? He didn't look so good last time I saw."

Cuddy smiled tiredly. "He's stable. He's going to recover, it's just going to be a while."

Marina smirked. "He's too stubborn to die anyway, the old coot. But I'm glad. And I bet you're glad too, eh?" she questioned suggestively, waggling her eyebrows at the engagement ring on Cuddy's finger.

Cuddy looked at it admiringly. "So, so glad."

She sighed. "Marina, take the day off tomorrow. I'm going to take a day off work and take Rachel to the hospital for the day, and spend some time with her. Now that House is awake, she's going to want to see him."

Rachel piped up, wriggling in her little pink pajamas. "I see Hows? I see Hows now!"

Cuddy laughed, setting her down. "No, Rachel, tomorrow. He's asleep right now."

Rachel pouted. "But I want to see him now."

Cuddy smiled tenderly at her. "I know you do, Rachel. Tomorrow, okay? The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can see him," she informed her, knowing it would apply to her child's logic.

Rachel's eyes widened, and she scampered off to her bedroom. "I'm asleep, mommy! Night night!"

Cuddy chuckled. "Goodnight, Marina. I'll see you day after tomorrow?" she asked as she paid the woman for her generous overtime.

Marina placed the check in her purse without looking at it, pulling on her coat and fluffing her black hair. "Will do, Lisa. Get some sleep, you look like you need it."

She suddenly looked at her knowingly. "I made you some food, it's in the fridge."

Cuddy warmed. "You didn't have to do that," she protested feebly.

"Oh, I know you've hardly eaten since this all started, and nothing fattens you back up better than some home cooked Mexican food."

She left with that, swaying her ample hips as she got into her car.

* * *

After a good, long, hot shower and piping hot enchiladas, Cuddy was ready to sleep. She hit the pillow, expecting to drift off immediately.

But House's empty half of the bed distracted her. Where his warmth usually was was cold and empty, devoid of his usual snoring, lanky frame. Cuddy looked at it sadly, wanting, more than anything, for her fiancé to be in bed beside her.

* * *

The next morning Chase was waiting beside House when she came in. Rachel was practically bursting with excitement, wriggling around with her hand firmly grasped in Cuddy's.

Chase looked up at her, his eyebrows rising. "You look like you didn't get much sleep."

She hadn't. She'd tossed and turned until almost three, finally drifting off only to be woken by her alarm four hours later.

Cuddy shook her head. "It was just hard to sleep alone, that's all."

Chase nodded sympathetically; after Cameron had left him, he'd had many sleepless nights in his empty loft. "I get it. But it won't be long before he's back at home, and all he'll want to _do _is sleep, after PT."

Cuddy sighed, letting Rachel go. The little girl scampered to House's left side, opposite Chase. She reached up and padded him lightly on his arm.

"Hows wake up?" she questioned her mother, looking at her with trust filled eyes.

Cuddy nodded to Chase, and the younger doctor dialed down the drugs in House's system. "They should wear off fairly quickly," he tossed over his shoulder as he left the room. House needed some time alone with his family.

Speaking of family, House's mother and Wilson walked in together, chatting between themselves fondly. Both of them felt a strange, compelling need to take care of House, and they'd bonded over it during the infarction and beyond. Sometimes Wilson thought he talked to Blythe more than her son did.

When they saw House asleep, however, they stopped. Wilson strode up to Cuddy. "He's okay, right?" he hissed in her ear, not wanting to alarm the other two in the room if he wasn't.

Cuddy nodded. "He's still out from the medication. He should be waking up fairly soon."

Wilson stared at her. "Wait, you mean he let you knock him out?"

"Let _Chase,"_ she corrected grimly. "I assume you knew he was going to have an issue with it?" she asked him coldly.

Wilson cringed. "I might have had a slight inkling, yeah."

"And you _left_?" she sniped, enunciating the 't'.

Wilson flinched slightly. "I figured you'd already convinced him, seeing as how you two were asleep."

Cuddy's eyes were flat. "No, I hadn't, and Chase had a hell of a time with it."

Wilson glanced at House, who was beginning to stir. "Sorry. I'll talk to him later."

Cuddy quirked an eyebrow, ever the efficient boss. "Yes, you will."

She really did wish that he had been there last night. House didn't listen to many people, but he seemed to consider Wilson's words more than others. It might have been because Wilson was no where near him when the infarction had started, away at a medical conference.

What ever the case, she was fairly sure that House would have given in faster had it been Wilson asking him instead of Chase.

The first thing that House saw was a pair of deep brown eyes staring at him from a distance of maybe four inches. He blinked, and the face materialized around the eyes.

"Hey, kid," he murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Rachel grinned. "Hows! You awake!"

House blinked heavily, still somewhat in the grasp of the sleep meds. His hand found his leg, grabbing onto it reassuringly, but his face never changed. "Yeah, I'm up."

He raised the bed into a sitting position, glancing around the room. His 'family' was gathered there, waiting for him to come fully into consciousness.

"Wilson," House greeted stiffly, eyeing the oncologist. He still hadn't had a chance to harass him for calling his mother.

Wilson grinned, not one to let an opportunity to mock House slide. He wasn't keen on letting House forget that Wilson now knew, without a doubt and with tangible proof, that he had a selfless side. "Super Doc."

House narrowed his eyes, frowning. "Go get me breakfast, then, Sidekick."

Wilson rolled his eyes but relented, leaving to go down to the cafeteria.

"Greg, dear, you shouldn't be so hard on him," Blythe scolded him gently. "He only did what he thought was best. I'm glad he called me."

House rolled his eyes, but he was distracted from commenting by Rachel. "Hows. You feel better? Mom says you better."

House's eyes softened, and he patted Rachel's head. "Yeah, kid, I feel loads better. How was your little adventure at Marina's?"

Rachel grinned. "I had enchiladas," she announced proudly, her tongue stumbling over the Spanish word.

House eyed Cuddy. "I wouldn't mind some enchiladas myself, actually," he suggested, grinning at her.

Cuddy felt like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She was afraid that House had been mad at her after what had happened last night, but he didn't seem to be holding any grudges.

"Wilson's already getting you breakfast, you pig," she chided him gently, sitting by the bed and grabbing his hand. He didn't pull away, instead choosing to thumb the engagement ring.

Blythe's eyes widened, flicking from the ring to her son to her future daughter in law. A wide smile split over her face, but she mercifully stayed silent for the moment.

Wilson reappeared a moment later, holding a tray full of food. House pushed away his growing pain and took it, eating ravenously. Wilson reached for a piece of toast.

House slapped him away in a natural movement, but paled afterwards. He clutched his chest, all the color bleeding from his face.

"Uh, Cuddy, take Rachel to my office so she can get my Gameboy," he said tonelessly, trying not to betray that there was anything wrong.

Cuddy studied him, her eyes widening as she noticed a blood spot on his shirt. He must have ripped out some stitches from the many lacerations on his chest.

She gathered up her daughter and hurried to remove her from the room, throwing House a last, concerned glance over her shoulder.

As soon as she was gone, House set the tray to the side. Wilson cocked his head, still not seeing what was wrong. "House, what are you-"

"Shut up and take my mom to eat breakfast," House commanded, blue eyes hard as steel. He didn't want his mom watching as he was fixed up; he was quite sure his chest looked like it had met a rather large cheese grater.

Wilson's eyes widened, but he complied, nodding to Blythe. "I'll see you…" he said hesitantly, wondering when House wanted him back.

"Forty five minutes," House barked shortly, covering the growing blood stain on his shirt. Just as he hadn't wanted to alarm Rachel, he didn't want to alarm his mother.

Wilson's eyes widened in understanding. "Okay, okay. Come on, Blythe."

Blythe had seen her son like this often enough that she knew when it was best to leave him be. She filed out without comment.

As soon as they were out of sight, House pressed the nurse button. On appeared fairly quickly, albeit with a distasteful expression on her face. She'd lost the quick game of rock paper scissors that the on duty nurses had played to decided who was going to attend to the infamous Dr. House.

"Yes?" she asked.

House glanced up at her, then back down at his chest. "Get Dr. Chase," he snapped shortly.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Why?"

House bared his teeth at her, getting impatient. He knew that the nurses weren't overly fond of him, but he didn't really want to bleed all over everything, and Cuddy and Rachel might be back at any moment. "I've ripped at least four stitches, so if it isn't too much trouble, _go and get my doctor, _or at least some needle and thread so I can sew myself back up."

The nurse blinked at the blood she could now see leaking through House's shirt. She'd heard that he'd been in some sort of accident, but she hadn't believed it. She'd figured he'd pulled some stunt like electrocuting himself again.

"Uh…" she said, at a momentary loss.

"For God's sake, woman!" House burst out. "Get going!"

She reached down and paged Dr. Chase, watching House's stats out of the corner of her eye.

She figured she'd probably need to cut her losses, so she reluctantly came towards House.

"Lift your arms," she snapped. She'd been on the receiving end of one too many of House's insults to feel bad that he was bleeding a bit.

House, glaring at her, complied as best he could with broken ribs. The nurse lifted the hospital smock of his long frame.

She gasped audibly at the maze of stitched up lacerations and bruising that adorned his left side. Sure enough, a line of stitches on his pectoral muscle had ripped out, staining his chest and wrappings with blood.

"Hold this there," she breathed, handing him a wad of gauze. He did so without comment, avoiding her gaze and looking darkly out the window.

He hated the pitying looks he was now getting. He'd known it was bad, but he hadn't bothered to really look. Bruises and cuts didn't last long, in the scope of things, something he knew all too well. Still, no one liked seeing their chest look like a lion's scratching post.

No matter how he felt, if he didn't stop the bleeding, that could be a problem. He winced as he held the gauze in place with his bruised left arm.

_I'm really lucky I didn't break my arm, or clavicle or something, _he thought distantly, trying to remove himself from the stinging pain in his chest. _That would have made PT absolute hell. Not that it's going to be sunshine and roses anyway. _

Chase came in a moment later, out of breath. When he'd been paged by the nurse, he'd expected one of two things; for House to be crashing in some violent, dramatic manner, or for him to be berating some poor helpless employee. He was both relieved and dismayed to see that House had pulled some stitches.

"Jesus, House," he complained, dismissing the nurse with a jerk of his head. She fled the room with her new bit of gossip.

"What were you doing?" Chase asked him, trying to keep the mood light as he grabbed a syringe of a local numbing agent and a new thread and needle. "Boxing?"

House rolled his eyes, "Yes, with Wilson. He was trying to steal my bacon, I had to defend it."

Chase rolled his eyes and numbed the area, pushing House back as he began his needle work. "Stop fidgeting," he commanded shortly as House squirmed a bit.

House stilled himself. He'd been trying to reach his leg, which was protesting at the movement, but Chase didn't need to know that.

Chase finished up fairly quickly. "We need to re-bandage this, while I'm here," he mused, trying to keep the mood professional. He'd be saving a nurse from pulling her hair out over House's temperament if he did it himself.

House didn't look happy about it, but he nodded.

They were in the middle of it when Foremen walked in. His eyes widened at the sight of his boss's mangled chest. He'd known it was bad, but not _that _bad. And to think, they'd been trying to _convince _House to let them knock him out. Foremen would have taken the syringe and injected himself if his chest had looked like that.

House glared at him, daring him to comment. Foremen smartly shut his mouth.

As Chase unwound the bandage from the worst of the damage, House clenched his fists and bit his lip, wincing slightly. Chase was once again struck by House's high pain tolerance. Most other patients would be cussing and spitting at this point.

House suddenly eyed Foremen. "Hand me that," he barked shortly, pointing to the heating pad sitting on the side table, just out of his reach.

Foremen complied, his mouth still glued shut. House turned it on and pressed it into his thigh, trying to ward off the cramp he felt coming on. He sincerely hoped that Chase and Foremen would be out before it happened; otherwise they'd be down his throat on getting back on the sedative.

He grimaced. He'd have to ask Cuddy about the new cocktail of pain meds that Yung had sent them. Anything beat being knocked out for God knew how long. He wasn't too optimistic about the management line up, especially with the new injuries, but it would be better than nothing. He was tired of having to think more slowly under the sedatives.

"Thigh bothering you?" Foremen asked, though he knew it was true.

House said nothing. Foremen still felt a little awkward around House, after what had happened yesterday, but he figured the best strategy was to ignore it and pretend like it hadn't happened. It would be easier on both of them.

Chase eyed his boss as he began wrapping his torso back up. He wanted to bring up the CPC center and see if he had any new meds in mind, but he didn't want to go spewing about it if House didn't know he knew. The last thing he needed was a patient that felt he couldn't trust any of his doctors. Knowing House, he'd probably end up trying to sign out AMA and flee to his apartment, walking or not.

Chase finished up. "Okay, that's done. Anything else?" he offered, hoping House would bring it up himself.

To his delight, he did, if in a round-about way. "Yeah. Tell Cuddy its okay to come back, and to go ahead and fill the prescriptions. She'll know what I'm talking about."

Chase nodded, and left. Foremen did too, but threw a glance over his shoulder at his boss. House was pressing on his thigh like it was trying to float away.

Foremen sighed and turned back around. "Is the heating pad working?"

House's head jerked up. His eyes were distant. "What?"

"I said is the heating pad working."

"Not really. But it hasn't before, so I didn't really expect it to do much now," he elaborated, sounding as if he didn't really care. He braced himself with his other arm, pressing into the pillow that had fallen behind him.

"How's what's-his-face?" he suddenly asked, his eyes sharpening. "Seizure guy."

Foremen recognized the evasion, but he didn't comment on it. "He's stable. Not better, but not worse either. I don't suppose you've had any brilliant ideas?"

House scoffed. "Yes, Foremen, as I was embracing Cuddy's car door, the only thought in my head was for my poor dying patient. No, I haven't thought about it."

He bit the side of his cheek, squirming on the hospital bed to find a more comfortable position. "Update me."

Foremen did, with mixed emotions. He wasn't entirely sure he should be letting House work with the medication he was on, but it seemed to be distracting him from his leg pain.

House's mind seemed to be working full throttle. Foremen could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he looked up at the younger doctor and fired off a possible diagnosis.

"If that isn't it, come back," he finished, seeming to deflate. He slid back into the bed, the sudden energy from the puzzle fading.

Foremen was quietly amazed, but he said nothing as he walked out the door. House's diagnosis was plausible, and rather tame considering some of the other things he'd come up with. He'd begin treatment.

He hoped that House was right, but even if he wasn't, at least the older doctor had something to occupy his mind with.

**Next chapter involves a serious talk between Cuddy and House, and possibly Wilson (I haven't decided.)**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm gonna tell y'all, scheduling for me does not work. I tried out a day planner, and that thing was as about as useful as a trapdoor in a rowboat. It is now propping up my trashcan, along with my SAT study guide and 'Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul'. *sigh***

House sighed, trying to ignore the ache in his leg. It had eased slightly during his DDX with Foremen, but the pain was slowly creeping back up to a nasty level. It was only natural with all the stress his body had been through in the past week that it would be hurting more, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

His head was pounding. That stupid accident had put everything on hold. The engagement, the pain center, everything. He knew Cuddy was itching to talk to him, but he was dreading it.

She'd held off for the moment, but that was likely because he was spending more time sleeping than anything else. Not to mention the fact that they'd hardly had a moment alone together since he'd woken up.

His thoughts centered on her, swirling around her face. She hadn't looked very rested this morning, bags under her tired eyes and a droop in her posture. It bothered him more than he'd like to admit to see her like that, all worn out because of him. Maybe _she _needed a sedative.

No sooner had he had the thought than Cuddy herself walked in the door, letting it slid shut behind her.

Rachel wasn't with her. At House's questioning glance, she explained.

"I left her with Wilson," she told him briefly, setting down a bag. "We need to talk."

House sighed, wincing as the movement of his chest pulled on the many stitches there. "I love how you choose the moment where I can't actually walk to talk to me."

A flicker of a smile flashed over Cuddy's face, but the humor quickly faded.

"Do you trust me, Greg?" she finally asked, staring into his face.

His eyes widened. "Of course I trust you. Why wouldn't I trust you?"

Cuddy pressed her lips together and sat down, crossing her arms over her frame. "You act like you don't. And you act like it a lot."

House looked away. "Cuddy, I love you. And I _do _trust you."

"Then why won't you give me a straight answer?" she finally burst out, feeling angry tears start to form. "I ask you how you're feeling, and you lie and say 'fine.' I ask you what's wrong, and you say 'nothing'. Yesterday, I could see you were in a lot of pain, and I wanted to stop that pain. But you lied to me and told me it didn't hurt. Why do you keep lying to me?" she sobbed, feeling angry at herself more than at him.

House's face was dismayed as Cuddy began to cry. "Stop… crying…" he pleaded, eyes searching. He both wanted to reach out and hold her and simultaneously run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but in his current situation he could do neither.

Cuddy took a deep breath, hating the pain she heard in his voice. "There are so many things you've never told me. At the pain clinic, you had that binder full of things you'd tried, pain charts, everything. Wilson and I thought you'd found vicodin and stopped. Why didn't you tell us?"

House looked extremely uncomfortable. "You aren't going to like the answer," he warned her finally.

At her silence, he continued. "I was always trying to find something else," he began, looking like he'd rather be talking about anything else. "Something other than the vicodin. I knew it was bad for me, knew what it was doing to my body. The first few years after the infarction, I was obsessed. Trying to find something, _anything, _to stop that constant, gnawing pain in my leg. So I did the pain charts, I did all the recommended breathing exercises, I tried only taking the meds when I _really _needed them."

He unconsciously gripped his leg, biting his cheek. "The problem was, I always really needed them. The pain doesn't stop, Cuddy. It doesn't go on and off, doesn't fade. It's always there. Sometimes it's worse, sometimes it's not as bad, but it's always there."

Cuddy's eyes filled with tears at his quiet words, words forced out like an admission of weakness. "So I tried to find another solution. I knew you two were worried about me, about the meds I was taking. So I tried. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to disappoint you with false hopes, give you a chance at something better and then snatch it away when it didn't work. I knew how much it hurt, hell, I was experiencing it first hand over and over again. Do you think I wanted to do the same to you two?"

Cuddy laughed without joy, wiping a tear out of her eye. "You're an idiot. We're your friends, Greg. We could have, _would _have helped you."

House rubbed his chin with the knuckle of his thumb, an unconscious gesture he did when thinking. He didn't meet her eyes.

"House, look at me," Cuddy commanded. "No, _look _at me."

His eyes met hers, his hesitant. "What are you afraid of?"

House bit his lip. "I'm not… afraid. I'm just…"

He searched for an explanation she would accept, but realized that lying to her wouldn't help things. He swallowed his pride and confessed to his future wife.

"Look, Lisa. I'm not so great at… relying on other people. I tend to just try to fly solo through these things. It's not that I don't trust you, I do."

"Then why? If you trust me, you'll let me help you. I don't want you to go through it alone."

"Growing up…" he began, then took a deep breath. "I didn't really have any support that I needed. If I was hurt, it was usually my dad's fault. I didn't get anything from him, obviously. And my mom, well, I couldn't tell her anything about it. She didn't know, she never knew. So I just sucked it up and dealt with it on my own. The few times that I ended up having to go to the school nurse or the hospital didn't end well for me."

Cuddy gripped his hand. From the bare bones of what he'd told her, the abuse hadn't been little. But the hospital? She hadn't realized just how bad it had been.

House scoffed at himself, but he gripped Cuddy's hand harder. "I realize I'm a textbook abuse case, Cuddy, you don't have to say anything. But me seeing it doesn't stop it."

Cuddy brought his hand to her mouth, kissing it while she cried. "Greg, it's not like that anymore. I'm sorry."

House eyed her. "What are you sorry for?"

"For… all of this. For everything that's happened to you that wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve any of this."

House laughed uneasily, glancing at the nurses that were trying to unobtrusively sneak a peak at their boss and her man. "I'm not sure everyone would agree with that," he half joked.

Cuddy shook her head. "You _didn't, _Greg. I'm not sure why, but you seem to take anything bad that happens to you lying down. Bad things happen to good people."

House half laughed. "I'm not a good person."

Cuddy frowned. "You aren't all bad, House. I'm not saying you're a saint, but deep down, you aren't bad. You aren't evil," she told him firmly.

House scoffed. "Tell that to them," he said dismissively, gesturing to the gawking nurses outside the window.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at the nearest nurse, who quickly turned around and got busy. She stomped over and closed the blinds, whirling around to sit back down next to House.

"You would think they had nothing better to do," Cuddy fumed.

House smirked. "They don't. They're trying to wrap their heads around it."

Cuddy glanced at him sharply. "Around what?"

"Around… this," he clarified, gesturing to the space around them. "How _you_ could be dating _me_. And I'm sure the engagement rumor has started spreading."

Cuddy stared at him. "It isn't that hard to believe," she insisted. In Cuddy's mind, it wasn't. House was a sexy, smart man, and one she'd always wanted for herself. She couldn't quite understand the nurses' point of view.

House looked at her incredulously. "Yeah, it is. You've got it all, big boss of the hospital, loving mom, you're hot. You could have any guy on the planet, and yet you broke of an engagement to the perfect father for your kid to be with the most screwed up guy in Princeton."

Cuddy blinked. House saying things like that wasn't something she was used to. What she was _used _to was a guy that acted like he was the king of the world.

She'd forgotten that he was the more fragile of the two.

"House," she began slowly, scooting closer. "I wouldn't want to be with anyone else. I'm not sure what I was doing with Lucas, to tell you the truth. I dated him because… he was safe. He was logical."

House looked down. "In short, everything I'm not," he finished up, sounding slightly hurt by her words.

Cuddy shook her head, gripping his hand. "No, House. He was _boring. _You're so much more than that. You're what I want, what I always wanted. I love you."

House caught her eyes, measuring her words. He relaxed after a moment, returning the pressure on his hand. "And that makes you insane," he whispered, smiling a bit.

She smiled. "Maybe, but I heard you like 'em crazy," she breathed back, leaning in for the kiss.

They broke apart for a moment, resting their foreheads together. "I'd like to have sex," House told her with his usual delicacy, "But I'm not sure that's feasible under the circumstances."

Cuddy laughed. "No, probably not."

She hugged him close, as gently as possible. He stroked her back, resting his chin on top of her head.

Cuddy felt it was safe to bring it up now, and she did, with a note of warning in her voice.

"Your mother didn't seem to know we were dating, Greg," she said. He stiffened guiltily. "Wanna tell me about that?"

House cleared his throat as she leaned back, raising her eyebrows. "Uh…"

"No, no, please, tell me. I'm sure it's a perfectly logical reason."

"I just hadn't gotten around to it?" he offered hopefully, twisting his mouth when she didn't buy it.

"To tell the truth, I didn't think it would last," he mumbled. "I didn't want to get her all hopeful again. She was sure Stacy and I were going to get married and give her grandkids, and when we didn't… and I haven't dated seriously since then."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, though inside she was seething at Stacy and her betrayal. She'd never asked House about it, but she could see that thinking about it filled him with pain.

Cuddy sighed. "Well, that wasn't logical, but it wasn't a bad reason either. I promise you, Greg, nothings going to happen to us. It's okay to tell your mom."

House half smiled at her. "I _was _planning on it. Sorta. In the back of my mind. Vaguely."

"Uh huh."

House twisted his mouth suddenly. "Though now I suppose you're going to want to tell her about the engagement."

Cuddy smiled. "Yep."

"Any chance on waiting until she's back out of town?"

"Nope. I think she noticed the ring before you kicked me out earlier, anyway."

She suddenly frowned, remembering the blood on his chest. He was now laying back, the sheet pulled up over him.

"You want another shirt?" Cuddy asked wryly. "You look like a preteen girl in a locker room, with the way you're covering up."

House frowned, but nodded. "It's cold in here, alright?"

"Yeah, sure."

Cuddy held up a spare hospital gown. "So you pulled some stitches, huh," she commented, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "How many?"

House sighed, wincing. "Chase was only mildly annoyed, so no more than five. I'm guessing."

"I'll remind Wilson not to bait you," she teased.

Her smile faded as House dropped the sheet and fumbled with the gown. His chest was a maze of blood and bruises.

She bit her lip and helped him with the gown. When it was finally on, his head drooped.

Cuddy swallowed. She'd scolded him for lying to her, but she'd basically forced him to do something he didn't want to do. He didn't seem to grasp that at all.

"House, why aren't you mad at me?"

He raised an eyebrow, a hand going to his leg. "Why would I...?"

"I pretty much forced you to take meds you didn't want to. I'd be mad at me. Why aren't you mad?"

House rolled his eyes. "You did what I would have done. It was right."

"That doesn't usually mean anything if you're against it."

House frowned at her. "I'm not mad at you because you were right. I wasn't being logical. I was being…"

"Emotional?" Cuddy finished, watching his reaction. He didn't meet her eyes.

"It was stupid."

"Fear isn't stupid, House," she said gently, and his head snapped up. "Chase and I talked. He thinks that you were afraid that what happened with Stacy… would happen again."

She took a breath. "Was he right?"

House cocked his jaw. "Stupid, I know."

Cuddy thumbed his cheek, loving the feel of the stubble there. "House, I don't blame you for being afraid. Fear is human."

"Fear like that isn't _logical,_" he insisted. "I knew rationally that nothing was going to happen, but my heart was still pumping like crazy and my mind was still rushing at ninety miles an hour."

He left the other part of his thought out, the fear of being tied down. He _did _have a rational reason for that fear, and it probably wouldn't ever dissipate. His mind hopped to a completely different subject (as it often did) as he hoped that Cuddy didn't like it kinky, because he'd be in trouble.

"House, listen to me," Cuddy demanded, pressing on his face until he met her eyes. "I understand the fear. I do. And I don't see you any different because of it."

House watched her for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then he relaxed slightly, huffing. "Stupid," he whispered again, but with less conviction.

Cuddy smiled slightly.

The moment ended when House stiffened, his hand curling into a fist. Cuddy's eyes widened. "House, what's wrong?"

His pupils contracted slightly, the heart monitor hooked up to him beeping at a more frantic pace. All through his talk with Cuddy, his leg pain had slowly been climbing, and it had suddenly reached a violent boiling point.

He closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. The heating pad was doing nothing at all to ease the spasm.

"Mhm…" he grunted, trying unsuccessfully to curl forwards over his leg. "Leg," he panted. "Just leg."

Cuddy bit her lip. "I have the medications that Yung prescribed. Do you want them?"

House huffed painfully, wishing he could more easily grab his leg. "Not… ehh… not yet. Nausea…"

Cuddy nodded, even while her heart twisted at the thought of being in so much pain that you actually threw up. "Do you want me to try to rub it out?"

House shook his head, biting his cheek until he tasted blood. Rubbing on it now would only make it worse, what with the bruises and small cuts all over it.

His agony was only strengthened by the state of his other leg; it was held immobile, but he strained against the brace in an effort to attain a fetal position. It sent small shots of pain skittering up and down his spine, the broken bone zapping him painfully. Every breath, every gasp was worsened by the state of his chest. He was in absolute agony.

Cuddy tried not to panic as the situation quickly fell to pieces before her eyes. "House, House! Talk to me. Keep talking to me," she demanded, trying to distract him.

He gaped like a fish, trying to force the words out. "About… w-what?"

"Anything. Everything. Just keep talking to me. What's your favorite color?"

House rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question, but groaned a moment later as a spasm shook through him.

"Answer the question!" Cuddy demanded sharply as his blood pressure and heart rate continued to rise.

"R-red," he forced out between clinched teeth.

"Favorite book, favorite movie," she stammered, trying frantically to keep him focused on her.

"Ehh… Sherlock H-Holmes," he panted. "Sh-Shawshank… Redemption."

"Favorite food."

"Fuck…" he hissed, tensing yet again as a spasm ripped through his thigh. "W-Wilson's… pan… cakes."

"Any weird phobias, things that bother you?"

House arched his back, gritting his teeth as a small tear coursed down his cheek. "I'm not… not overly f-fond of h-horses," he gasped, clawing at the bed.

Cuddy was distantly surprised by the admission, but she moved on anyway. "Do you like dogs or cats?"

House huffed out a half laugh, closing his eyes during a rare lull in the pain. "You suck at this."

Cuddy gripped his hand. "Is it over?"

House shook his head miserably. "Far from it. I need a basin," he suddenly requested, paling. Cuddy handed him one in the knick of time; he vomited his breakfast into it spectacularly.

Cuddy's stomach clenched. "I could knock you out. Just to break the cycle. Then when you wake up you can take the meds."

House paled. That stupid fear was rearing its ugly head. The last time he'd been knocked out for pain had ended with his leg being mutilated.

Cuddy watched him swallow thickly, a hand going to cover his leg. "Greg, I swear, I won't let anything happen. I _won't."_

House panted, wincing as his leg started up again. What she was saying made sense. The only way he'd be able to stop the cramp cycle was for him to relax completely, and the only way to do that was to be knocked out. But he was still afraid.

Fighting the fear, he nodded, closing his eyes as he did so.

Cuddy lurched forwards to up the meds before he could change his mind. As he slowly relaxed, she bit her lip, cursing herself. If she'd just given him the meds straight off, instead of lecturing him, they might not have had this problem. This pain he was going through was her fault, through and through.

House couldn't keep doing this. It was stressing out his system and his mind. She had to find a solution to his physical pain before she could begin to work on his emotional ones, and she resolved to do so as fast as possible.

She stood as he passed completely out, kissing his sweaty forehead. "I'll be back, House. I'm going to call Yung."

Even as she said it, she remembered the doctor's earlier insistence that House call him. She swallowed guiltily; with the crash and everything she had totally forgotten.

That in turn got her mind working. Maybe Yung could make a visit here, to check up on House personally. He certainly wouldn't be able to come in for the scheduled check up.

She held her head high and walked to her office, intent on getting things done.

**And there goes Cuddy, on a mission. Next chapter takes a break and features the amazing Australian doctor and possibly other ducklings. **


	18. Chapter 18

**So here's a quick rundown. I'm sitting on my bed, in my PJ's on my laptop. My dog is asleep, curled up next to me. She's hogging the bed (she's a boxer). It's three am. And I'm listening to Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry as I write this.**

Chase, Foreman, and Taub sat together in the DDX room, staring at the now solved case files in front of them.

"I can't believe he figured it out," Chase said finally, tossing down his copy onto the table. "He's in massive amounts of pain and on sedatives. And he figured it out like it was nothing."

Taub shook his head. "He can't possibly be human."

Chase winced. He knew just how wrong that statement was, just how _human _House could be.

Wilson and Blythe interrupted their musings as they walked into the DDX room. "Hey, guys," Wilson greeted tonelessly. Rachel scampered in after them, quickly uncapping a marker to begin drawing violently on the freshly erased whiteboard.

Foreman crossed his arms. "What, did House kick you out to have some alone time with Cuddy?"

Chase cleared his throat guiltily. He hadn't told them about the stitches he'd had to redo, mostly because they'd been caught up in reviewing the case.

Wilson looked pointedly at Blythe and Rachel. Both of them were unaware of why House had insisted they left, and he wanted to keep it that way. Chase nodded in understanding.

Blythe sat down in one of the comfortable chairs sitting on the side of the room, setting her purse down gently. She spoke quietly, conscious of the small child across the room. "I'm not sure why, but he was obviously in pain from something. I think he ripped out some of his stitches trying to hit your arm, James.

Chase opened his mouth in shock, and then shook his head. It was amazing just how little they could keep from this woman. He confirmed her statement by grimacing at the other two fellows.

"Yeah. Five of them. I had to redo them about an hour ago."

Blythe shook her head. "I swear, he never tells me when he's in pain. He's always been that way."

Chase frowned. "What do you mean?" he questioned her pointedly, wanting to hear proof of what House himself had already confirmed.

"Oh, when he was a child he just seemed to ignore anything that was hurting him. I'd find bruises on him all the time, but he never complained about them. It was the oddest thing, really. Other little boys would run crying to their mothers at the slightest bit of carpet burn, but Greg never really even cried."

Chase cocked his jaw angrily, looking away. It was amazing that his mother could be so good at catching the obscure, and stare right through something right in front of her face.

Foreman took the opportunity to learn more about his boss. "Really? I pegged him for a whiny baby," he teased, though it wasn't true. That man had the best poker face he'd ever seen.

Blythe raised her eyebrows and shook her head exasperatedly. "No, really, he didn't. I remember once he passed out in the nurse's office in school and ended up having to be taken to the ER. He'd cracked a rib on his bike's handle bars. But when I talked to the teacher, he'd said that Greg hadn't shown any sign of that kind of pain, that he'd just looked a little sick and had asked to go to the nurse for some Advil."

Chase got up suddenly. "Excuse me," he growled, stalking from the room.

Blythe watched him go with a troubled expression on her face. "Greg used to do that too," she said after a moment, breaking the uneasy silence that had descended upon the room at Chase's abrupt exit. "Run out like that, I mean. Usually when he and his father were arguing."

"What was his dad like?" Taub asked eagerly; he was keen to learn some background on his boss.

"Oh, he was a military dad," Blythe said honestly. "John was no-nonsense and strict. He and Greg never really saw eye to eye."

Wilson scoffed quietly. If House's reluctance to attend his father's funeral was anything to go by, it was more than a slight difference in views. House had hated the man.

Blythe shrugged. "I don't know. John was a very black and white kind of person, and Greg is all grays. He was an intelligent and curious little boy, where as John was content to just let things alone as they were. They were nothing alike."

Blythe sighed, her motherly eyes filled with pain for her son. She saw nothing wrong with telling the people House worked with about him. Blythe was a very trusting, slightly gullible woman, something that had now doubt helped the abuse in House's earlier years.

"After he moved out it just went down hill. John wanted him to be in the military. But Greg was firmly against it, and I can't say I blame him. He never was the type."

She chuckled sadly. "Not that he wasn't brave, I mean. He just wasn't the kind of boy that wanted to grow up killing people. I think he went to school to be a doctor partially to spite his father, but I also think he wanted to save lives instead of taking them."

Foreman and Taub were dead silent, their eyes fixed on Blythe. They were unused to hearing such a kind description of their boss, a description missing the words 'ass' and 'bastard' completely. No, this was a mother's version of her son.

"When the infarction happened…" Blythe frowned. "John just never really understood how close Greg came to not making it, I think. It never really hit him that he could have lost his only child. And the pain that came with it…"

She sighed heavily. "He was never very understanding towards him. He wanted Greg to suck it up, basically, though there was no sucking up something like that. He constantly harassed him, tried to make Greg more like himself."

Blythe smiled sadly. "John saw things the way he saw them, and nothing could change his mind once he'd decided on something. I think he was convinced Greg was making a big deal over nothing. Sympathy wasn't one of his strong points."

Foreman bit his lip. House's father sounded like a real ass, but in a different way from his son. His father sounded like a man that couldn't learn, where as House _strived _to learn, to grow. It was like mixing two volatile chemicals together; odds were, they were going to explode.

Blythe's eyes were filled with absolute sadness. "I remember the first time he came home after the infarction. I'd visited him in the hospital, of course, but I hadn't seen him try to walk on it at all. It was so painful, to sit there and know there was nothing I could do to ease his pain. He tried to hide the strength of it from me, at first, but there was no getting around the limp and the winces every time he took a step."

She swallowed. "He was so athletic and high-spirited before it all happened. I had to watch him crumble before my eyes, become harsher and colder right in front of me, especially after Stacy left."

Wilson was privately thinking the same thoughts. He'd been the one to pick up the broken pieces of his best friend after his relationship with the supposed love of his life had ended. Wilson had watched his friend give in to depression. He'd watched him cry, he'd been there as he screamed into a pillow to channel the pain during a particularly hard spasm. Then, he'd watched him try to claw his way back into some semblance of normal life. Physically, House had lost about a fist's worth of muscle. Mentally, he'd never been the same.

* * *

Chase paced back in the coma ward, feeling more and more like his boss as he hid out there. He aimed a kick at an innocent trash can, sending the contents flying. It wasn't like the noise was going to bother the patients.

How could his mother be so blind? It seemed as if she genuinely was unaware that her son had gone through abuse at the hands of his dad. From what she had described, it hadn't been just the odd beating. It had been constant. And if House had really broken a rib on his _bike_, Chase would eat his lab coat.

It seemed amazing to him that his mother could be so impossibly blind. He liked the woman, he really did. Blythe was a sweet old lady, who had been nothing but nice to him the few times they'd met. But an odd, sort of protective anger had spread like fire over him at Blythe's ignorant words. He'd had to remove himself from the room before he blew up on House's mom.

It was killing him, to know this about his boss. It didn't change his view of House, not at all. He still admired and slightly feared the man, still thought he could be a total asshole, still thought he was brilliant. It just gave him a better understanding of him.

He longed to discuss it with Wilson, but the thing was, he didn't think Wilson knew. The oncologist was House's best friend. Hell, the man was practically family. But House had apparently never told him about his dad's abuse.

It rubbed Chase the wrong way, but he knew it wasn't his place to tell Wilson. That was House's decision and House's decision alone.

Chase was nervous about being around House with his now confirmed knowledge, as well. If he let something slip, somehow let House know that he knew, there would be hell to pay. Not only would _Chase _be in deep shit, but Cuddy might be as well.

What Cuddy had warned him about was probably true. If House found out that Cuddy had told Chase something in five minutes that he'd been holding onto since childhood, he'd be angry and hurt. He wouldn't see it the way that Chase and Cuddy did; as two people that cared about him discussing something in mutual understanding and sympathy. He'd interpret any sign of compassion as pity and would likely block them all out, and that was the last thing Chase wanted.

Though, he didn't know how long he could go without letting House know he knew. He wouldn't throw Cuddy under the bus, but he _did _have to say something at some point. Chase telling House straight up would be better than House finding out he knew in some roundabout way.

He sighed, eyeing the comatose patients around him. He could see why House hid in here all the time. It was peaceful. No one to hide anything from. He could tell all the secrets he wanted to in here, and the audience would blissfully sleep away, unaware.

* * *

Cuddy hung up the phone resolutely. She'd just been talking with Yung.

The doctor was scheduled to make a special hospital visit tomorrow afternoon. In the mean time, Cuddy was supposed to be giving House the medications and ensure he got plenty of rest.

"That may mean knocking him out overnight," Yung had warned. "I'd imagine he has some coping mechanism when he wakes up at night because of the leg pain?"

Cuddy had bit her cheek. "He paces," she confirmed, remembering waking up countless times to hear House's cane thumping rhythmically against wood as he tried to ease his pain. She didn't think House had ever realized that she'd noticed his late night escapades.

"Well, obviously from what you told me he'll be unable to do that now. So knocking him clean out overnight would be the best option."

Cuddy had swallowed. She wasn't looking forward to having to relay that information to House.

She resisted the urge to put her head down on her desk. She needed to go retrieve Rachel from Wilson (he'd said he'd be in the DDX room), wake up House, and then employ his team and Wilson to watch over him while she went home and did some much needed laundry and dishes.

She scoffed. Hadn't she taken time _off _work? It certainly didn't feel like it.

Ignoring the growing headache that had begun between her eyes, she resolutely stood and went down to House's hospital room. First things first, he needed to be awake and _not _be in the kind of pain that pushed people into cardiac arrest.

She arrived in his room and dialed down the drugs without preamble, ripping open the white paper bag that held the medications he should have been taking days ago. She poured him a glass of water and waited for him to wake.

He did, if slowly. His hand, as had become customary, went straight to his leg, and only then did he relax.

"Huh," he mumbled. "That worked out alright."

His eyes searched for a clock. "Two hours?" he questioned.

Cuddy shrugged. "I had stuff to do. That's beside the point," she moved on quickly. "Here."

She thrust the bag into his hands, eager for him to start on the drugs. She felt a bit foolish when he skeptically read the labels, deep in thought. She'd hardly even looked at the drugs.

"Says here I need to take it on a full stomach," he pointed out, partially because it was true but mostly because he was hungry.

"But you ate…"

She swallowed her words, remembering that he had puked during the breakthrough pain. He said nothing, just staring at her with his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, okay. I'll be right back."

House shook his head, his hand catching her wrist. "Call Wilson. He'll do it, and he'll bring Rachel back in here."

"And probably the rest of your team," she pointed out in warning, but he shrugged and she pulled out her cell phone.

"That's fine," he sighed. "I need to see if I was right about seizure guy anyway."

Cuddy looked at him sharply. "What did you say?"

House blinked. "Foreman asked me if I had thought of anything for our current patient. I had, so I suggested-"

"House, you can't practice right now!" Cuddy hissed. "You're on _sedatives!_"

He frowned. "Cuddy, relax. I didn't order him to do anything. I just suggested something."

Cuddy shook her head, fighting anger. "House, they believe whatever you tell them, whether they want to or not."

He blinked again. "Foreman's a good doctor. If the symptoms didn't fit and I had obviously been wrong, he wouldn't have treated the guy for it. As it were, I did nothing but make a suggestion."

Cuddy bit her tongue. "Don't make anymore suggestions until I give you the okay," she ordered.

He rolled his eyes, clearly not seeing what the big deal was all about. "It's not like I was telling them to chop the guy's head off, Cuddy. Even if I'd been wrong, the treatment wouldn't have hurt him."

Cuddy huffed. "That's not the point, House. If word gets out that I'm letting you practice while you're in the _ICU, _the board will have my, and your, head."

House scoffed. "If they haven't beheaded me already, it isn't going to happen," he threw back.

Cuddy just sighed and picked up her phone.

"Yeah, Wilson? Could you grab House a lunch tray? I know. Okay, thanks. I'll pay you back for them when you get here. And go ahead and bring Rachel with you? Thanks."

She snapped her phone closed and rubbed her head.

"Headache?" House questioned her, a slight, but audible, tone of worry in his voice.

"I'm okay. Just need to get some sleep," she replied.

He frowned at her. "Then go home tonight and _sleep,_" he said. "You look like you stayed up last night watching bad TV."

She shook her head. "It's just… it's hard to sleep without you there."

She could see that he was touched, but instead of acknowledging it he held up his IV in a typical Houseian fashion. "Want to borrow some?"

She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile, and he grinned in turn.

Her momentary happiness faded as she contemplated the long run they had in front of them. They had so much to discuss, to overcome.

She sighed. She might as well begin now.

"Greg, you know we're going to have to talk more about the abuse," she said out of nowhere, catching him off guard.

He wilted, his smile vanishing as well. "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that," he confessed.

Cuddy bit her lip. "I know you don't want to," she began, "but we're going to have to discuss it eventually."

House refused to look at her, instead choosing to examine the ceiling. "It was years ago, Cuddy. And I've already told you too much, I shouldn't have said anything in the first place."

His words were flippant, but she could see the pain in his eyes. "House, really. Have you told _anyone _else?"

He cocked his jaw, closing his eyes. "I told that rape victim you had me treat," he said after a long moment. "Eve."

Cuddy felt momentarily stunned. So _that _was why Eve had connected so strongly to him. One broken person to another.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"So you told a total stranger… but you never told me?"

House looked hurt by her words, and she quickly reassured him. "House, I'm not angry. I'm just trying to wrap my head around it."

He shrugged apologetically. "She needed to hear about someone that was more screwed up than she was."

Cuddy twisted her mouth to the side, lightly placing her hand on his arm. "House, you aren't screwed up," she assured him softly.

He scoffed, but said nothing. She decided to let it lie for now.

"Does Wilson know?" she asked after a moment.

House stiffened. "Oh, God no. Tell me you didn't say anything to him," he demanded frantically.

She shook her head, and he relaxed. "No, he doesn't know. You and Eve are the only ones I've said… anything to. And I never saw Eve again, so I guess you're the only one who really counts."

"Your mom?"

He frowned. "I told you, she never saw."

"House, how could she miss it?"

He huffed, staring at her. "Cuddy, I don't think you get it. They had the 'perfect family' act going on. Even if she'd seen the evidence right in front of her face there wouldn't have been much she could do. He was an 'upstanding military man'," House spat with tangible sarcasm. "One wife's word against his would have gone nowhere."

"No one else noticed? Teachers, neighbors?"

House shivered. "I wasn't real keen on letting them know. And we moved around a lot, so there wasn't really time for them to notice."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I did have a close call… well, someone put two and two together once, but since I didn't say a word against him it went nowhere. We moved that summer, so there wasn't time for a follow up incident."

Cuddy lightly thumbed his arm. "House, it wouldn't hurt to let Wilson know," she suggested gently. "He cares about you."

House shook his head firmly against the suggestion. "I know he does, Cuddy, but no. The only reason I told you was because I wanted you to know exactly what you were getting into."

She blinked at his honesty. "House, I love you. What made you think that would change?"

He exhaled. "I'm a messed up guy, Cuddles," he said, trying to force a light tone with the use of her nickname. "I wanted to give you the chance to get away from that, for Rachel if nothing else."

Cuddy stroked his face, her eyes a bit teary as she watched House close his eyes and lean into her touch like they were a pair of magnets.

"But Wilson's your best friend, House. He loves you. Not in the same way as I do, obviously, but as a brother."

House didn't open his eyes as he continued to speak. "So that means I have to tell him everything?"

Cuddy didn't want to push him, but she didn't think that his silence was healthy, either. "That's what friendship is, House. Telling everything about yourself to another person, and them doing the same, and then accepting each other through those things."

She sighed. "He's done the same for you, hasn't he?"

House opened his eyes, biting his lip. His gaze jumped up to the window of the ICU room.

_That's it, conversation on hiatus,_ Cuddy thought to herself as Wilson, Rachel, Foreman, Taub, and House's mother entered the room. Only Chase was absent from House's make-shift family.

House frowned at the group. "I remember asking for food, not a parade," he sulked.

Foreman raised an eyebrow at the small pile of medications in House's lap, covered a moment later by Wilson setting the lunch tray on top of it. House ignored the look, choosing instead to begin shoveling down the food. Foreman scribbled something on his chart and sat down; he was glad his boss's leg pain seemed to have abated for the moment.

House eyed the two members of his team out of the corner of his eye as he munched on his Ruben. Both of them were staring at him with fascination.

Finally, he looked up and narrowed his eyes. "Taub, update me on the patient."

Taub was a bit taken aback by the sudden demand, but he gave House what he wanted anyway. House nodded at the report, sending Cuddy a sideways glance that screamed "I told you so".

She rolled her eyes, but was inwardly relieved that everything had come out alright. House needed to know he could work, and she needed to know that they weren't going to be horribly sued while he was in the hospital.

Wilson spoke up. "How're you holding up?" he demanded, less as a pleasant thing to say and more as a warning.

House smirked. "Holding up fine, Wonder-boy Oncologist, especially with this food you so lovingly fetched me as my faithful sidekick. And watching the kid too, that was classy."

Wilson's mouth twitched. He knew House was using the banter to cover up how emotionally and physically unstable he was at the moment. He'd been around House during healing time enough to recognize it.

He'd also been House's friend long enough to know not to mention it.

Rachel sat in her mother's lap with her own, smaller tray, cramming a fist full of grapes into her mouth. House grinned at her messy face.

Taub laughed at Rachel's style of eating. "Looks like she picked up her manners from you, House."

House rolled his eyes, but his mother chuckled softly. He sent her a mock-pained look. "Mom, you're supposed to be on _my _side!" he whined.

Blythe laughed. "Sorry, Greg dear, but you _did _used to eat like that as a child. You always acted like someone was going to steal it from you."

Something dark flashed through House's eyes, though Cuddy and Wilson seemed to be the only ones who noticed. But he laughed it off, cramming a handful of chips into his mouth to mock Rachel. She giggled as he chewed messily.

"Okay, now that you've gotten a good look at me, go away," House commanded his team. "Be gone. Scat. Shoo. Adios."

The two men rolled their eyes, but consented, leaving to finish up the chart work left over from seizure guy.

When his employees had gone, House turned to Blythe. "Mom, how long are you planning on staying?" he asked with his usual tact.

Blythe shrugged. "I wasn't really sure. Barbara's watching the house, so I'm fine for as long as you need, honey."

Wilson winced. If House had a say in it, his mother would never have come.

"In that case," House began, but his mother cut him off.

"I'll be leaving soon, Greg dear. Probably tomorrow."

He leaned back into the pillow, a bit surprised by her words.

She expanded, seeing his confusion. "I know you'd rather have me at home, sweetie," she said, smiling gently at him.

House's features flickered into a smile. "I love you mom, but you're cramping my style," he said, slyly gesturing to Cuddy."

Blythe couldn't quite contain herself. "_When _were you planning on telling me?" she practically squealed.

Wilson grinned at his mother's reaction, and House's obvious love for her. "Well, actually, once you were back out of town, but Lisa convinced me otherwise."

Blythe reached over and pecked him on the forehead, beaming at a now blushing Cuddy. "Well, congratulations! Any plans for the wedding?"

House sobered a bit at this. "After the leg heals up, for sure. Can't exactly carry her over the threshold with a broken femur."

Blythe smiled at him, patting his arm. "Well, I can hardly wait."

She stood, brushing herself off. "I'm going to go back to the hotel now, Greg, and go to bed early. I think I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, but I'll come and check on you first."

"Yeah yeah, Ma."

"I did have a _lovely _talk with your work team, though. Those are some fine young men."

House's eyes widened. "Mom, you _didn't. _Please tell me I'm not going to be hearing stories of my most embarrassing childhood moments from my employees."

Blythe patted his hand, smiling rather deviously. "Oh, no, Greg dean, I would never do that. Goodbye honey. I'll see you in the morning."

House groaned but nodded, watching his mother amble out the door.

"Crap," he muttered. "Wilson, please tell me she didn't say anything about a ranching trip."

Wilson turned towards his friend, eyebrows perched in interest. "No, she didn't, but do you want to tell me about it?"

House shook his head. "Not on your life, Jimmy."

Wilson smiled at him, though the topics discussed with his mother had been anything but happy. "Yeah, yeah. So, you trying out the new meds?"

House looked down under the tray, remembering why he was eating. "Oh, yeah."

His voice was guarded, his walls up for a possible attack from his best friend. Wilson's voice was soft as he replied. "Good. I'm glad."

House relaxed, popping the tops off of the pill bottles and downing the respective amounts in each. He ignored the water, making Cuddy frown.

"Hows sick?" Rachel enquired, looking at the pills. "Med'sin?"

Cuddy took over, seeing the pained look that flashed over House's face. "Yes, honey. House is taking those to help his leg."

Rachel's eyes widened. She knew, on some level, that House's leg hurt him, or at least that he had trouble with it. She hopped off of her mother's lap and placed a light hand on his knee. "Make it better?"

House blinked. "I hope so, Rach. I hope so."

**Longer chapter than usual (though I doubt you're complaining) because there's so much I need to fit in. **

**By the way, a very helpful commenter (Sorry I've forgotten who, cleaned out my inbox O-o) pointed out that I've been spelling Foreman's name wrong. I'm not sure why that happened. My brain short circuited. Though, from now on, I'll be spelling it correctly… You knew who I meant, anyway. **

**I hope.**

**Please forgive typos, because I'm exhausted and frankly only read over this once. **


	19. Chapter 19

**So… guys, I have a good excuse. For not updating quickly, I mean. Right now, it's actually quite painful for me to type. I got into a fight with a food processer, long story short. So typing is possibly the most painful action I can do right now, and I'm taking it slow. Bear with me?**

The room was quiet, finally. Wilson had left for a meeting, and Rachel had fallen asleep, curled up on the small couch in the room.

Cuddy stroked House's hand with her thumb absently. His expression was unreadable.

The silence had lasted long after Wilson had gone from the room. House seemed closed off, cold. Cuddy desperately wanted to know how everything was affecting him, but House was firmly keeping his walls erect.

"Have the meds begun to do anything?" she asked quietly.

House shrugged. "It hasn't gotten worse."

Well, that was something, considering the spasming he'd been having before. But it wasn't good _enough_.

"Has it gotten _better?" _Cuddy asked pointedly.

House didn't meet her eyes, gaze cautious. "A bit."

Cuddy suppressed an annoyed sigh. Did House not _want _to be pain free?

"If you don't mind me asking, why aren't you a bit more excited?"

House swallowed. "I've seen this fail too many times, Cuddy. I don't get excited anymore."

Cuddy stared at him.

"Inevitably, something goes wrong. Either they work for a bit then stop, or they don't word enough, or they jack with my head too much for me to do my job. But no matter what, it always ends- ended- with me going back to vicodin."

Cuddy swallowed. She could see the despair in his eyes, the absolute inability to be optimistic. Optimism had hurt him too much, and now he was as cynical as they came.

"Greg, they might work out, this time," she expressed softly. "And if not, we can try other things."

House didn't even blink at her statement, and she knew she hadn't quite gotten through.

"Yung is coming here tomorrow," she offered after a moment.

That got his attention, but not in the way she would have hoped. "Why?" he demanded hotly. "What can he do for me that the hospital can't right now?"

Cuddy winced at his harsh tone, and he softened his voice, sparing a glance at Rachel. "All I'm saying is that it's going to be hard for him to run tests and get an accurate pain scale while every breath I take _hurts,_" he whispered, finally meeting her eyes.

Cuddy was shocked that he'd admitted that much pain at all. "He's a pain specialist, House. It's his job to help you, whether it's a physical pill that he gives you or a breathing exercise to calm you down. Ideally we'd be doing this at the CPC, but obviously you can't get there right now."

House chose not to talk anymore about her explanation, jumping to another subject. "I've been meaning to ask when I can get out of the ICU. I'm not critical," he insisted. "There's no reason for me to still be in here."

Cuddy twisted her mouth at what she was about to say. "Well, actually, there is. With the sedatives we're giving you to knock you out, you need round the clock care to watch your respirations. We can't risk it."

House furrowed his brow at her. "I don't plan on being sedated again, Cuddy. I thought I was taking these meds so I could stop that."

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "Yung said it might be a good idea to knock you out overnight. He said… that you probably didn't sleep well, with the leg pain, and that you'd have a sort of …coping mechanism that you can't do now because of the femur."

House looked at her warily. He didn't know if she knew about the nearly nightly pacing he did to ease the ache in his leg, or at least to tucker him out long enough to where he could get some rest.

But by the hesitant look on her face, she knew, and she wanted to know if he'd tell her of his own free will. He sighed. "Yeah, I do. And no, it's not really possible to pace with no good legs to do it with."

Cuddy relaxed. "So what do you think about it? Just overnight, like last time."

House looked tense. "I hate the idea and I don't want to."

Cuddy stifled a sigh. At least he was being honest. However, his next words made her swallow her lecture.

"But it's probably a good idea."

Cuddy all but choked. She'd expected to have to fight him hard about this. "Really?"

House frowned at her. "Yeah, really."

"It's just that I expected you to fight harder," she explained, sounding sheepish.

House looked at her for a long moment. "I'm tired, Lisa. I don't have the energy to debate at the moment. Get me a cup of coffee and I'll argue with you if you want me to."

His tone was flat and defeated. Cuddy suddenly took a closer look at him, noting the bags under his eyes and his slumped posture. "House, are you okay?"

House squinted. "I'm fine. Just… tired?"

He made it sound like a question, like he wasn't sure what he was feeling. "I feel sluggish. And sleepy."

Cuddy blinked. "Well you can grab a nap if you want to. I need to take Rachel home, get some laundry done. I can just have Chase come in and up the dosage later tonight?"

She left it as a question, leaving it up to him. Even as she watched, his eyelids fluttered. "Mhm," he grunted, fighting to stay awake. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course," she replied, her heart aching that he still phrased it as a hopeful question. He should have known by now that she'd be there for him.

"I love you, Greg," she told him softly, just as his eyes closed.

"Love you, too," he mumbled, then he was gone.

Cuddy smiled softly at him, leaning forwards to kiss his forehead. She hadn't planned on ending the conversation so quickly, but House needed every bit of sleep he could get. Since the accident, he'd spent most of his time unconscious, and it was going to be like that for a few more days at least. Cuddy just hoped it wasn't a side effect of the meds.

She gathered up a still sleeping Rachel and drove home.

Page break.

Back in the room, House twitched in his sleep.

_Lex watched Greg stride into the classroom out of the corner of her eye. He was late. Almost ten minutes late. _

_The teacher seemed to be thinking the same thing, Lex noticed as she watched him check his watch and frown. _

"_Mr. House," he boomed, tapping his pen on his desk. "Why are you late?"_

_Lex watched Greg struggle for an answer. "My dad's car broke down, Mr. Barley. I'm sorry; I had to run to get here."_

_He did look out of breath and sweaty, pale even. Lex watched him with concern, noticing his trembling legs. He looked like he wanted to pass out. _

_Mr. Barley grunted roughly, acknowledging his student. "Good to see you ran, son. That's the determination I like to see!"_

_Greg smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his ice blue eyes. It never did, Lex realized with a sigh. He just wasn't the type to smile._

_The period passed by, mostly uneventful. Lex continued to sneak glances at her crush out of the corner of her eye, watching him with concern. He'd dropped his pencil on the ground, but had yet to pick it up. Instead, he looked at it with something like fear. _

_None of the other students took notice as Greg slid his pencil over to him with his foot. No one else noticed when he gritted his teeth to bend down to pick it up. Only Lex saw when he turned faintly green at one small movement, clutching at his ribcage. _

_The sixteen year old House stood up with a grimace, walking gingerly toward the teacher's desk. _

_Lex watched him carefully, tilting her head to hear the conversation that passed between them. Had she not been sitting right in front of the teacher, she never would have caught his words. _

"_Mr. Barley, I feel… sick. Can I go to the nurse? Please…"_

_The teacher assessed Greg silently, deeming him worthy to go. When he took in his pale complexion and sweating, the corner of his mouth twisted. He hated letting students out of his classroom, but this was Greg… he'd never gone to the nurse without cause._

"_Are you done with the assignment?"_

_Greg glanced regretfully over to his desk, looking at his entirely blank paper. "No sir."_

"_Well…"_

_Suddenly, Lex stood up. "I'll take him, Mr. Barley. I'm done."_

_He nodded, letting Lex make the final decision. "Here's a pass. There's only one left… so come back together."_

_Lex nodded, noticing Greg get paler. He glared over at her. "I can manage."_

_She nodded. "I know. I'm coming anyway."_

_She scooped up his bag along with hers, not giving him a chance to argue. _

_He gingerly walked down the steps to the nurse's office, wincing at every movement. "Greg, are you alright? You look bad."_

"_Stomach hurts…" he said vaguely, ignoring her offer to console him. He was so strong. Too strong. _

_The nurse looked up as the two kids entered her office. "Ah, Greg," she said, recognizing the boy who had come into her office with an awful lot of scrapes and bruises. "What happened? And who's the lovely lady?"_

_Lex blushed, but Greg looked furious. "She escorted me here, Nurse Camille. And she'll be escorting me back, as soon as I get some Advil._

_Camille pouted, feeling his forehead. He was cold and clammy to the touch. "Headache?"_

_Greg shook his head, getting impatient. "No, my chest hurts. I fell this morning. Can I just have some Advil, please?"_

_The nurse pursed her lips. "Just as soon as I see the spot where you fell, Greg. If there's a bruise, I can give you some ice as well…"_

_She lifted up his tee shirt, trailing off as she saw what was under it. A huge, purple bruise was on his ribcage. _

"_Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice calm. "What in the world happened?"_

"_I fell off my bike this morning." Greg replied, gritting his teeth and yanking his shirt back down. "I'm okay. I just need some pain relief before I can go back to class."_

_Lex opened her mouth momentarily. "I thought you said you ran to school?"_

_Greg's pupils constricted in fear, seeing he'd been trapped. Something clicked in the nurse's mind. Constant bruising, sprains. It was always that he'd fallen or lost a fight or some other excuse. _

_This was an abuse case. _

_The nurse shooed Lex out of the office, sitting in front of Greg gently. "Gregory. Do I need to get a councilor in here?"_

_House closed his eyes. "No, ma'am. I fell."_

"_No you didn't. You don't have to lie to us, Greg. It's okay. We can get you help, stop whoever's doing this."_

_House had been about to protest when he suddenly felt a searing pain in his chest, accompanied instantly by the inability to breathe. "I… can't…"_

_The nurse jumped into action and dialed 911. _

House came back into the conscious world with a shuddering, painful breath. His eyes flew open and took in the drab ceiling of the hospital room, adding to his after dream, hazy panic. He could hear his heart monitor beeping franticly beside him, its shrill song slowly bringing him back to reality. His hands were clutching the sheets in a death grip.

Chase watched all of this as silently as possible, feeling like he was intruding on something private. He'd come in, originally, to up his boss's meds and go home for the night. But when he'd entered, House had been twitching and murmuring anxiously in his sleep. Chase had sat there and watched him go through what must have been one hell of a nightmare, afraid to wake him up.

When his heart rate had gotten high enough that a nurse came in, Chase had shaken his head at her quickly and sent her away. The last thing House needed was to have a rumor about him traveling around the hospital.

House swallowed convulsively, pushing back angry tears that threatened at the corners of his eyes; tears that wanted to fall and wash away both his physical and emotional pain. The aftermath of that trip to the ER had been absolute hell. John had, naturally, placed the blame on his son for inconveniencing him, though it'd been John's military style boot that had put him in the hospital with a floating rib that had punctured his lung in the first place.

Nothing had come of the nurse's call to CPS. They'd moved a few weeks later, and House had never tried to tell anyone what had really happened.

It hadn't just been a bad dream. It'd been a sort of strange nightmare, mixed with real events. He'd been seeing himself out of his classmate's eyes, going through something that had been all too real. He decided not to dwell on it and pushed it to the back of his mind. No doubt the pain in his chest now had caused his subconscious to come up with a memory to match it.

He winced to himself. That incident had _certainly _been painful, both as it happened, and the punishment that came after. He was relieved that he hadn't dreamt about that, or he'd have been screaming bloody murder in the middle of the hospital.

Chase cleared his throat quietly. House reacted quickly, jerking to face the noise and groaning when the movement hurt his ribs. He could slowly feel his heartbeat fade back to a normal rhythm, something Chase was embarrassingly aware of because of his heart monitor.

Chase tried to keep his face blank. "You okay?" he asked after a moment, his need to be sure outweighing his fear of a reprimand. "That must have been one hell of a dream."

House huffed, pressing the button to arch the bed up. "One hell of a memory, you mean."

Chase wisely chose not to take that little tid-bit. House still seemed a bit out of it, whether from the drugs or the sleep it didn't matter. Chase wasn't about to push him on it; but from what he'd heard, not nightmare had probably been some sort of flashback.

If he was going to try to talk to his boss about it, it'd be when he was fully able to defend himself, not when he was drugged up to his eyeballs with no way to escape.

House eyed him. "Did you wake me up to knock me out?" he questioned, annoyance strong in his voice. "Because, if you did, I don't think I need to point out the false logic here."

Chase shrugged. "I didn't wake you up, you woke up yourself."

House watched him warily, suddenly all joking inside. "How long have you been in here? And what time is it?"

Chase swallowed, suddenly nervous. "A while. And it's nine."

House, if possible, looked just as uncomfortable as Chase did. Chase cleared his throat again in an effort to break the silence.

"The nurses are beginning to wonder what's wrong with you," Chase offered him. "Not one complaint from any of them. Who are you and what have you done with my boss?"

House rolled his eyes. "Between you and the team, Cuddy, and Wilson, I haven't even seen a nurse. And if one did come in here for something, I was sleeping."

Chase gave him a half smile. In reality, House was probably too drained to put up much of a fight anyway, but that would go unstated.

House tiredly rubbed his eyes, feeing groggy. "Damn. These new meds aren't doing much for me," he complained to no one in particular. "I can't _think._"

Chase twisted his mouth sympathetically. "Are they helping your leg, though?"

House blinked, as if he hadn't really thought about it. The meds _were _helping, at least a bit. The pain was nowhere near vicodin levels, but it wasn't a six either. For the first time in nearly a year, he felt like maybe he could put weight on it without it screaming curse words at him.

Unfortunately, he had a broken femur that was preventing him from jumping up and down in joy. Not to mention the fact that, if it was indeed the meds that were making him this fuzzy, and not the sedatives, he couldn't take them long term.

"Yeah, they are," he said quietly, choosing to give Chase the short version.

Chase leaned back in the chair, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed position. "I'm glad you're finally on something," he expressed.

House threw him a look, and Chase held up his hands. "We could just tell you were in a lot of pain, House. We were worried."

House scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Well, don't. I'm not interested."

Chase raised an eyebrow. "It's not a crime to have people who care about you, House."

"So I've been told."

House looked around the room. "If you really wanted to do something for me, you'd convince Cuddy to take me out of the ICU. I'm not critical anymore, and obviously, as you just saw, I can fall asleep on my own. I'm tired of being in here."

Chase rolled his eyes. "It's not like a recovery room is going to be that much different."

House gave him a look. "The nurses there are easier to manipulate. These ones are all mean, if I remember right."

Chase grinned, glad to have the boss he knew back for the moment. "I'm not sure that's a valid reason, House."

House shrugged. "If I can't manipulate them, I'll torture them instead. My average is two quitters per hospital stay, the record's four. Even more if you count transfers."

Chase wasn't keen on facing shrieking nurses. He nodded reluctantly. "I'll see what I can do. Have you asked Wilson?"

House sighed, wincing as the movement pulled on the stitches. "Ah, no. I'm giving him the semi silent treatment for tattling on me to my mom."

Chase snorted. "Well, don't do it for long. He was really worried about you. You should have seen him during the surgery, his nose was practically pressed up against the glass of the observation platform."

House blinked at the visual. Then he regarded Chase thoughtfully.

"You did well on the surgery, Chase," he said genuinely. "Though if I start getting complications I'm blaming you and whatever you decided to leave in there. "

Chase practically choked. House was _thanking _him?

"Seriously, do you have a head injury?" Chase asked him, baffled.

House rolled his eyes. "Knock me out and go away, Chase."

Chase snorted and complied, upping the meds just a smidge so as to help ease House into sleep. The diagnostician needed every minute he could get if he wanted out of the ICU tomorrow.

He left with his heart warmed from House's praise, not that he'd ever admit it.

**Next chapter features Cuddy at home, and some Rachel. Reviews are like good bourbon! Just kidding ;D**


	20. Chapter 20

**Who's been watching the Olympics? USA, USA! (Sorry to all my international readers out there.)**

Cuddy sighed as she pulled into her drive way, Rachel chattering away in the back seat. She was exhausted from the long day with House.

She smiled wryly to herself. Though she'd taken a day off, she felt like she'd been running three donor parties at once. Emotional roller coasters scattered throughout the long day had tuckered her out, though it was only around seven. Rachel had taken the nap to her full advantage, and was now bouncing up and down, full of energy.

Cuddy followed her to the door and unlocked it, yawning. She was hoping her daughter's energy would be enough to keep her awake while she took care of the laundry and food.

While Rachel played with her plastic horses on the floor, Cuddy sorted through her laundry and her thoughts.

There was still plenty to talk about with House. He'd yet to really open up about the abuse, hadn't given her any specifics. She didn't want to push him so hard that he closed himself off, but she felt that it was important that he get it out. If not, it would boil and fester until House was literally sick with it, if he wasn't already.

Her next thoughts were of his leg. For once, not the right, but the left. The broken femur wouldn't be a walk in the park. There'd be PT for both his legs, to re-strengthen the left and to keep the right from atrophying. House would be wheelchair bound for four months minimum once he was out of the hospital, and she very much doubted he'd be okay with that. She'd have to watch him closely to make sure he didn't try to saw off the cast with a chainsaw.

That brought up another problem. House and she weren't yet living together. True, they'd been spending copious amounts of time with each other, and more often than not, House slept in her bed or she in his. It was also true that a fair amount of each other's clothing had ended up at the opposite's home. But neither of them had made the move permanent.

As she turned out the pockets of the various pants (House's included) she mulled over the problem. There wasn't enough room for her and Rachel over at House's apartment, that was for sure. It was a small flat.

So would House want to come and live here? She doubted it. To him, it would forever feel like Cuddy's house, not _their _house.

So, would they move? She sighed. Uprooting Rachel wouldn't be that big of a deal, not at this age. And if they stayed close enough, Marina would still be able to nanny her. Rachel was only in pre school, so it wasn't as if she had any close friends she'd be leaving behind. And odds were they'd stay close enough for her to go to the same school anyway.

Something pointed on her fingers distracted her from her thoughts. She focused on the laundry in her hands, realizing with a start that it was the skirt she'd been wearing when the accident had happened. There were little dried spots of blood all in the black cloth.

She'd been cleaning out the pockets without realizing. In her hand was a small, white card.

With a start, she remembered the young woman who had given her the thermos full of hot chocolate. She'd forgotten all about her in the resulting chaos. The thermos was still in House's ICU room, sitting on his bedside table.

She examined the card more closely, reading what she'd been too distraught to read at the sight of the accident.

"Marcy Black," the name read. Under that, in classy silver print, was the name of a counseling service, and a phone number.

Cuddy couldn't believe it. What were the odds? That a therapist had been at the sight of the accident. She flipped the card, and on the back was a quickly scribbled note.

"Call me if you need to talk," it said, in black pen.

Cuddy shook her head. This woman could possibly rival Wilson with her attraction to neediness. Then again, it hadn't been hard to tell that she'd desperately needed someone. She'd been in the back of an ambulance watching her fiancé get pulled out of what used to be a car. She couldn't exactly blame the woman for her dedication to her business.

She placed the card in her pocket, intent on returning the thermos and thanking the kind stranger that had done her best to help the shaken woman that day. Who knew, maybe the woman would work out as a councilor for House!

That was, if he ever let her get him back into therapy. Nolan had been such a blow to him that she wasn't sure if he'd try again. The physiatrist still angered Cuddy, what with the way he'd treated House.

She sighed to herself. There was so much she needed to do. She still hadn't even told her own mother that she was engaged! It was hard to say if Arlene Cuddy would be happy for her daughter, or disgusted in her choice. It was never easy to know what the woman was thinking.

She picked up her daughter, nuzzling her belly affectionately. Rachel giggled and hugged her tightly. "Mommy, is Hows coming home soon?" she questioned her mother innocently. "I miss him."

Cuddy smiled softly, bouncing her daughter lightly as she went to the kitchen to heat up leftovers for them both to eat. "Yes, Rach. He'll be home. And until then, we'll go up to the hospital every day and visit him, okay?"

Rachel squealed in delight and smiled brilliantly at her mother. "Mommy, is Hows my daddy?"

The question caught Cuddy off guard, and she nearly dropped her fork.

Rachel waited for her mother to answer her patiently.

"Well, Rachel, what makes a daddy?" Cuddy asked her, hoping the toddler would find the answer for herself.

Rachel screwed up her face in thought. "He's gotta love you, right?" she offered.

Cuddy nodded. "Does House love you?"

"Yep!" she nodded happily. "He told me so! Then he hugged me _reeeal _tight!"

Cuddy struggled not to cry. "What else, Rach?"

"Uh… they gotta be there for yah. That's what Hows said! He said he'd be there for me!"

Cuddy blinked back tears of joy. "So do you think House is your daddy?"

Rachel smiled brilliantly at her mother. "Yes!"

* * *

At the same time, back at the hospital, James Wilson sat beside his friend in the ICU, watching over him protectively. House didn't know it, but Wilson had been spending plenty of his time around the crass diagnostician when he was knocked out.

He sighed. That seemed to be the only time he could get in with House without the man sending him out. He knew House was mad about Wilson calling his mother, but that wasn't just it. No, House was hiding something from him. He could feel it.

The man wouldn't even attempt a full conversation with him. He left it at snide remarks and surly silence. Wilson wracked his brains for anything he'd done seriously wrong, lately, but he came up with nothing. No, it seemed his friend was just being antisocial.

He sighed again, and idly thought to himself that the large inhale and exhale had become habitual around his friend.

He watched House's chest rise and fall evenly, even as he held the man's hand like House would never allow him to do if he were fully conscious. The accident had been completely unfair. The instant House had found some happiness in his life, fate took it away with a drunk driver and a broken femur. He was angry on House's behalf, and he hoped that House would sue.

The struggle with House's medication was wearing on all of them. None of them wanted House to be in pain, but that was how it usually ended up. The man was stubborn when it came to admitting how he really felt, what number his pain _really _was. Wilson had learned that, in the early days of the infarction. He was sure that the pain that House had _let _him see was only a fraction compared to what he dealt with on a daily basis.

He berated himself silently in the room. House, even on the vicodin, would habitually come into the hospital looking as if he hadn't slept a wink, and Cuddy and his team and Wilson would find him in the nooks and crannies of the hospital, snoozing away. It was only when House had lashed back out at Wilson that he'd realized why.

"I was up all night, Wilson!" House had shouted at him, on one memorable day when Wilson had found him tucked away in the coma ward, imitating the other occupants quite nicely with his dead asleep form.

"Doing what, drinking? Watching TV? Entertaining a hooker?" Wilson had exploded back, tired of having to chase his friend's lazy ass around the hospital before Cuddy went on the rampage.

"It's been raining!" House shouted back, his cheeks red from the anger that was finally forcing his words.

"So what? Are you afraid of the thunder, you baby?"

House had stared at him, eyes filled with anger and just a small dash of hurt. "No. Just the barometric pressure that comes with it."

He'd stalked out without giving Wilson a chance to reply. He'd been dumbstruck, taking in House's words.

Of course. He'd been moronic not to make the connection sooner. House's mutilated leg would certainly react to the changes in the weather, aching with the coming and going of fronts. Wilson had swallowed and looked out the window at the rain that was still pounding at the window panes like it had been all week.

He'd found House later and treated him to a trip to the bar, no complaints. House knew he was apologizing, but he didn't call him on it. He just acted as if the incident had never happened.

Back in the present, Wilson was glad it wasn't raining.

* * *

Chase was in his apartment, looking at the blank ceiling with an unfocused gaze. He'd come home straight from House's hospital room, intent on getting some sleep.

It was hard. He still sat up sometimes, till the early morning hours, unable and unwilling to sleep in the empty bed. The space beside him was cold and mocking, reminding him of the life he could have had with Allison Cameron.

Contrary to what Cameron had told him, he didn't blame House for what had happened. Cameron had accused him of becoming 'just like his boss,' cruel and unable to see right from wrong. Chase still thought she was wrong.

Not that he hadn't become more like House over the years of his fellowship. He'd grown a spine, that was for sure. But his decision to kill Diabola had nothing to do with House, and more with what _he _thought was right. The man had been a brutal dictator. He'd come to a strange peace about the whole thing, realizing that he'd done much more good than harm.

Cameron hadn't seen it that way. She'd left him. She couldn't stand being married to a 'murderer'. Chase wasn't bitter, per say, but he did miss her with all his heart. He had loved her. Hell, he still loved her. But he'd accepted that Cameron had moved on, and he wasn't about to try to get her back.

But the cold sheet beside him still ate into his mind, whether he liked it or not.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sighing. Cameron had been wrong about House too, it seemed. The man was perfectly capable of doing the right thing, portrayed by his selflessness during the accident. Despite what Allison might have thought, House was good when push came to shove.

He turned over, set his radio on a low volume, and finally drifted off, laying in the middle of the bed so he could fool himself that it was full.

* * *

Dr. Yung was still at his job, taking a quick break for a meal. Today had been a busy, busy day, and he was going to be home late. He smiled to himself as he thought about his wife and two children, who he'd kiss goodnight just as soon as he got back.

He looked down at the file in front of him. Dr. Gregory House, M.D.

It was amazing, the amount of trauma this man had been through. Along with several childhood hospital visits, including twice for pneumonia and once for moderate hypothermia, he'd been in the hospital several times as an adult.

The most prominent, obviously, was the visit for the infarction. He'd had about two weeks of PT documented, but after that, apparently, he'd signed out AMA. It amazed Yung that the man had come back to that same hospital less than a year later, walking and in need of a job. Without PT, he wouldn't have thought that House would ever have even been able to walk without crutches, at least. And yet all that had been supporting him was a cane (and not a medically advised one at that.)

Next to that was the hospitalization for the shooting. Once in the neck and once in the chest. Yung shook his head, wondering about that. What kind of situation could a _doctor _get into to get shot?

Then there was the ketamine treatment, documented both at the beginning, and at its failure. Yung had been very sympathetic reading that, realizing the pain it must have caused the man to be able to walk without pain, then have it snatched away again when the treatment failed.

After that, the most significant was the bus crash and the resulting coma. Yung knew he was missing something big when he read that House had done DBS so soon after a head injury like that, but it wasn't his place to question.

After that in importance were several minor altercations, including electric shock. Yung shook his head at the many minor ER visits, including a minor motorcycle accident.

Then there was the big one. The time the doctor had spent in Mayfield, detoxing and removing himself from the drugs. Various antidepressants had been prescribed, along with some lower strength pain medication. But it seemed that House had left those behind as soon as he'd left the clinic's doors.

Yung tried not to lower his head onto the desk with the hugeness of the problem. According to the medical records, this was a man that had tried pretty much everything. And yet Yung needed to find something that would take away his pain without taking away his mind.

He was hopeful about the mixture he'd come up with for House, but there was a real possibility that it wouldn't work. But he'd keep trying. He felt the need to do right by this man, something telling him that the treatment he'd been receiving was far from in his best interest.

Yung hated seeing people in pain. That's why he was heading his own Chronic Pain Center, one of the best in the country. People all over the world came to him to alleviate their constant pain, and he did his job well.

He shut the folder, stretching. He'd be seeing House and Dr. Cuddy tomorrow, and he could talk to them then. He could even give House some recomindations on how to deal with the increased pain of the car crash.

It was really a spot of horrible luck that House had been injured so badly. Just when he was seeking help for pain, more was inflicted on him. It would make treatment that much more difficult, but Yung was up to it.

He was among the best, and never one to let a challenge keep him down.

**Okay! Kind of a slow chapter, but the next one will pick up, I think. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Yes, I know this took forever. I have two words for you (and fellow band kids will understand,): Band camp. Haven't had the time to sleep, let alone update. **

Ha, you thought this was the end of the header, didn't you? Silly, silly reader. 

The next morning, House was roused by a tired looking Chase and his mother.

"Hello, dear," his mother cooed, squeezing his hand. "I just wanted to stop and say goodbye before I left for the airport."

House blinked several times, using the hand that his mother wasn't holding to rub at his eyes. "'Corse, mom. Love you."

Blithe smiled, pecking him on the forehead. "I love you too, Greg."

She gave his hand one last squeeze and stood up, going towards the door.

"I'm expecting a call from you soon, honey," she threw over her shoulder, leaving no room for protest. House rolled his eye, not bothering to reply. He'd have to call her for the wedding plans, anyway. Cuddy would be sure of that.

He was still feeling disbelief at the word. Wedding. He was getting married, to Lisa Cuddy, no less. He had to be honest with himself; he never thought it would have happened. Not after Stacy, not after the way she had left him. Not with the way he treated everyone around him. Not with his level of patheticness.

But it _had_ happened, and he was overfilled with a stunning sense of joy.

Chase's voice shook him from his thoughts. "You need to take your morning dose of the new meds, House," he said, handing him a glass of water his pills, which he'd already taken out of their respective bottles.

House scowled, the happiness he'd been basking in fading somewhat. As he woke more fully, his various aches and pains made themselves known. He took the meds from Chase and downed them quickly, grimacing at the familiar feel of dry pills sliding down his throat.

Chase frowned, pulling back the water. "How are you feeling?"

House rolled his eyes at him, finally finding enough energy in himself to be sarcastic. It felt good to torment his minions again. He prodded himself in the arm. "A bit mushy. Warmish. Why do you ask?"

Chase stifled the urge to roll his eyes right back. "Come on, House."

House sighed. It was no fun if they didn't play along. "I'm fine."

Chase wasn't satisfied with that. "You know that's not a real answer. Pain scale. Now."

House made a face. "Wow, you're no fun, are you? Fine. I'm at… about a six right now," he said honestly.

Chase's eyes widened. "Relax, wombat," House ordered. "Considering the speed at which I smacked into that drunken idiot, a six is good."

Chase slumped his shoulders. A six. A six, for a normal man, would be cause to go to the ER. Unfortunately, House was already here, and had been dealing with pain on that level for far to long to be concerned by it.

House wiggled his toes on the right side experimentally. "But my leg doesn't hurt as bad as it has been. I guess the meds are working. For now."

Chase cocked his head. "What level is it?"

House suddenly frowned, as if alarmed that he was being so compliant. "None of your business. I'm already going to have to go through this with Yung, and I don't like repeating myself."

Chase dropped his head in exasperation. House grinned at him. "When am I getting out of this room?"

Chase narrowed his eyes. "I couldn't say… you aren't being very compliant…"

House simply cocked an eyebrow at him, and Chase quickly caved. "Later today. After your scans and one last check up. Then they'll move you to a private room. You're lucky, apparently they don't want you around any normal people down there, so you get your own space."

House smirked. "Ah, the benefits of being a total ass."

Chase couldn't quite suppress a grin of his own. He was just glad that House was well enough to _be _an ass, and not just a smear on the highway.

House looked at Chase slyly, and Chase stopped smiling abruptly. Thatlook spelled trouble.

"Chase, I need you to do something for me…"

* * *

Cuddy walked into her hospital with purpose in her step. She was back. She was in charge. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she wanted other people to be able to see that in a glance.

As soon as she stepped into her office, however, she slumped somewhat. She was still slightly out of it from the recent events, though not enough to let her employees see. She needed to project that she was strong and in charge, after the last few days of chaos.

She was occupied with plenty for several hours, catching up on calls and paperwork that she'd missed on her days spent at House's bedside. The work was somewhat less, without the constant flow of complaints about House. Still, she'd have given anything to have her inbox full of angry letters, instead of him in the ICU.

She knew he was being moved today. Chase hadn't told her directly, but she'd kept close tabs on his condition. She was going to let it slide without too much protest. With House on the new meds, they would no longer have to medicate his sleep (hopefully). She knew that he would have driven the ICU nurses to insanity, and those were few and far enough as it was. The one nurse that he'd dealt with hadn't had any serious complaints, but she'd sure as hell started the rumor mill going. It seemed as though the entire hospital knew exactly what House had done to land himself in the ICU.

This knowledge was met with mixed feelings, it seemed. Many people seemed confused as to how the accident had happened, or simply refused to believe that it wasn't House's fault. The fact that the other driver had clearly caused the accident clearly didn't hold much with several of House's most widely known enemies. She'd heard more than one nurse swiping snide comments about how House had done it for the attention.

She'd been quick to send those nurses to a day of doing sponge bathes for the elderly patients in long term care.

She'd have to send out an official email and clear up any doubts about it. She knew House wouldn't approve, but she also intended to give a not so subtle hint about his heroics during the crash.

She smiled grimly. She was taking back control swiftly. It was what she was best at.

* * *

Chase grumbled to himself darkly as he pulled up in front of House's apartment. Why had he let himself get roped into this? Cuddy was going to give him hell if she found out.

He sighed, steeling his nerves to get out of the car. He'd never been in House's apartment before, and he had to admit he was curious. What would his boss's home look like?

He slid the key in the lock, trying to get rid of the feeling that House would come limping down the hallway and thump him in the back of his head with his cane. After all, House had told him where the spare was, and told him to go in and get some things.

Chase opened the door. He was hit by a wave of warm air; the apartment was a nice temperature compared to the cold outside. House probably kept it that way all the time- the cold wouldn't do his leg any favors. It was odd to connect his cold personality with the warm home that he was walking into.

The next thing that he noticed was the piano. It was a baby grand, immaculately polished and shiny. Only a small bit of dust was on it, likely from the past few days of House's absence. With the rest of the apartment in pleasant chaos, the piano could have been compared to a shrine in a temple.

Chase could imagine House sitting right there, playing away. It wasn't hard to believe that he seemed to play every instrument imaginable. Chase took in the several guitars (both acoustic and electric) on the walls, along with a stray harmonica on the coffee table and what he assumed was a trumpet case on the far wall. A saxophone (old, by the looks of it) sat on a stand next to the piano. He could easily see House jamming out, his long hands gripping the worn gold. A neck strap confirmed his suspicions- it was laying over the back of the couch casually, as if House had practiced it before bed and tossed it down before going to sleep.

Chase shook his head, carefully striding around the piles of books and papers to gently pull one of the electrics off the wall. House had all but demanded that Chase bring him his guitar and an amp, but he hadn't bothered to say which one, or where the amp was. Chase was in for a search.

He sighed, hoping it was within sight. But it seemed he was out of luck. The amp (and yes, he knew what an amp was, thank you very much) was nowhere in the living room.

He ventured around, trying not to knock over a pile of what looked like medical journals. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see several of them in languages other than English. He knew House spoke several languages fluently. He was more surprised to see them there at all, but he knew he shouldn't have been. House didn't _just_ sit around his house and play video games and watch porn when he wasn't working. He cared about the newest medical developments more than anyone else Chase knew.

The bookshelves caught his attention next. Several medical tomes littered them, some brand new, many very old. Along with them were other novels, most of them classic. Chase was amazed to see the collected poems of Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson alongside The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Through the Looking Glass. It seemed House had an appreciation for the classics. There were several books that seemed to be in Japanese, Spanish, German, and many other languages. They were all organized in a system known only to their owner.

Chase shook his head and moved on, chastising himself for getting distracted. He couldn't spend all day here. He had to be back in time for House's meeting with Yung- as his doctor, he needed to be there whether House wanted him or not. And even without House there, he couldn't abandon his diagnostics post. They'd been referring the cases after seizure guy, but that wouldn't go on much longer.

He ventured cautiously to House's hall closet, halfway afraid to open the thing. He wouldn't have been surprised to find a half decomposed skeleton in there.

However, what he did see was almost worse. His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the large number of canes in the front, almost, but not quite, obscuring the sadness and loss in the back. Golf clubs, skis, and a lacrosse set hid in the dark behind House's coats. It saddened Chase to see them there. He wondered why House kept them around; why he'd want to be reminded of the life he'd once lived before the infarction every time he opened the door. Maybe he couldn't bring himself to let go quite yet.

There was a wheelchair in there as well- a padded, nice one. Probably the one that House had fled the hospital after the infarction in. Chase had no doubt that that chair had been meant to be permanent. But it was defied even here, by the arm crutches lying across its rests and the canes in front of it. House, apparently, was too stubborn for a wheelchair.

After confirming that the amp was _not _in the closet, he shut the door and ventured into the back of the apartment. He was hesitant to enter House's room, but that seemed to be the most likely place to find it.

He pushed open the door after a moment, swallowing the feeling that he was violating his boss's privacy. The room was surprisingly clean, only the odd piece of laundry lying around. The bed was unmade, but that was to be expected. Chase would probably have fainted if he'd found House's bed made.

Ah, yes, there was the amp, sitting by the bed stand. Chase smiled triumphantly and hurried over to it, gripping the handle and lifting it.

He paused, however, at House's bedside table. A bottle of ibuprofen sat there, spilled open with the little red pills scattered on the glass. Chase could see his boss in his mind's eye, reaching for the inadequate drugs first thing in the morning. It made him swallow.

He left the apartment, shutting the door on it and locking the door, as if the deadbolts could keep the demons inside.

**Ok, next chapter features Yung. To give you something to look forward to. **


	22. Chapter 22

**Here's the latest update. Been facing a bit of writer's block with this story lately, but I think it was just because this chapter was difficult for me to write. It should be mildly less horrible after this. **

Wilson was rather forcefully made aware of House's upcoming transfer by a pack of nurses later that day. They'd come into his office as a group and basically demanded that Wilson assist them with the transfer.

Wilson was half amused, half intimidated. House was a handful, that was for sure, and apparently his reputation as his handler had gone ahead of him.

He was revving to go when Wilson got there, a dangerous look in his eyes. Wilson swallowed involuntarily. House only got that look when he wanted to make trouble. And the pain that he'd probably gone through during the official scans probably hadn't improved his mood.

"Finally!" House exclaimed as the three nurses came into his room, Wilson following meekly behind them. "I was wondering if you three forgot what floor you worked on. It's been known to happen, with you lesser minded people."

The nurses glared at him silently, jaws cocked. The three of them were hardened women, used to dealing with difficult patients. House, however, was a whole different enchilada. Cuddy had picked them specifically in the hopes that they'd keep House under control.

"Dr. House, we're moving you to-"

"Yeah yeah, I know. Get on with it, will you?" he said impatiently. Wilson winced.

"House, would it kill you to be a bit more polite?" Wilson asked, hands on his hips.

House looked at him with a completely straight face. "Yes. I'm allergic to social norms. As my medical proxy you should know that, it's on my chart."

The corners of Wilson's mouth quirked up in spite of himself. It was true, actually. House had scrawled it into the 'allergies' section, under 'other'. Wilson had left it because it was, in fact, true.

"Sit up," one of the nurses snapped, glaring at the difficult doctor. House pouted, leaning forwards as far as he was able. "Pushy, pushy…" he complained as the nurse snatched the pillow out from behind him.

Wilson did his best to help the nurses, but his presence didn't seem to have much effect. House still sniped at them every chance he got; by the first three minutes had passed, one of the nurses had left, her face red with anger.

"Great," Wilson said sarcastically as she stormed out the door. "Did you really have to comment on her nonexistent facial hair?"

House smirked at that. "Nonexistent? She looked like she was trying to imitate me."

Wilson tried to keep the conversation light as the remaining two nurses unlocked the wheels on the bed and unhooked the heart monitor. "Speaking of, you need to shave. Bad. You look like a hobo."

House rolled his eyes, leaning back down and locking his arms behind his head. "Cuddy likes it furry."

One of the nurses looked down at him curiously, suddenly interested. "Does she really?"

House cocked an eyebrow. "Yep. My face, too."

At the nurse's shocked, then disgusted look, House laughed heartily. He winced then, using his hands to brace his ribs as best he could. It still hurt to breathe too fast, and laughing was practically agony.

Oh, the irony.

The trip to House's private room was short. Not too many glances were spared for the bed being wheeled down the hall- House looked just like any other patient. Without his cane and odd gait, he attracted no more attention than anyone else.

He found it refreshing, but in a sad sort of way. How bad was it, that being wheeled around in a bed attracted less attention to him than just walking?

When they got to the room, Wilson jumped in to help his friend transfer beds. There was no way he was getting there on his own, and no way that the nurses would do anything for him gently. So he shooed them out of the room with a boyish smile and did it himself.

The move was painful and exhausting, and when it was over House was lying on the bed in a sweaty, pale mess. Both of his legs were killing him, the left one especially.

Wilson bit his cheek while he reattached the various wires and tubes to House's body.

"I'm sorry about calling your mom," he ventured finally, hating the tension between him and his friend.

House rolled his eyes. "No you aren't. You just don't like it when I'm mad at you."

After a moment of silence, he relented, Chase's words in mind. "But it's okay. It saved me a call about an engagement anyway."

Wilson relaxed, glad to finally be off the hook. He sat down heavily in one of the chairs, glad that House had gotten a private room. It was easy to talk to him this way.

"So are the medications really helping?" he asked, hope in his eyes. After House had blown up on him in the DDX room, he'd been chewing on his worry about House and his leg pain. He was full of guilt; he knew that he was part of the reason as to why House had waited so long to get help.

House sighed through his nose, wincing as his ribs bit at him once again. "Yeah, sort of. I'm not sure how long they're going to last, though."

Wilson smiled a half smile at him, leaning back. He hoped, for all their sakes, that the meds weren't just a temporary fix.

* * *

Chase, when he got back to the hospital, tried not to make eye contact with his fellow employees as he came in the door. He looked absolutely absurd, carrying around an amp and a guitar case in a doctor's coat. When more than one person stopped to stare, and a small child giggled, he ducked his head and practically ran to House's new private room.

House grinned at him as he entered, his eyes lighting up. He'd had just enough time to recover from the transfer to be back in good humor; the move had hurt. He was glad that it had just been nurses and Wilson that witnessed it- the last thing he needed was having to deal with his team or Cuddy making sad eyes at him while he tried not to scream.

Wilson shot House a look. "House, don't use your fellows as slaves. And if Cuddy catches you with that…"

House smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Give me the life lesson later, Wilson," he complained. "Gimmie," he demanded, much like a child, holding his hands out to his younger fellow.

Chase rolled his eyes and plugged in the amp, trying not to laugh at his boss's expression.

"Do you know how bored I've been?" he whined, strumming and tuning the guitar. Chase plugged it into the amp and turned it down low so as not to wake up the whole hospital. He turned to the guitar, making goo-goo eyes at it. "Oh, how I've missed you, you sweet thing you."

"House, you haven't even been here a week," Wilson interjected as Chase fled the room.

"Never gone that long without playing this beauty. Not since the last hospitalization…"

He strummed a few bars of _Desolation Row, _adding his own style to the classic Bob Dylan tune.

Wilson smiled at his antics. "I'll leave you two alone, shall I?" he asked, gesturing to the guitar.

House looked at him sharply, fingers continuing on their own. "Why? Yung's going to be here soon."

Wilson looked shocked. "I know, that's… that's why I was leaving."

"Stay," House said simply, looking down at his guitar as he switched to Jimi Hendrix's Manic Depression.

Wilson blinked, "Uh… Okay. If you want me to."

"I do."

* * *

Dr. Yung walked into the hospital with a spring in his step. He was revving full throttle, excited about House's treatment. He hadn't had a patient that was this difficult in years, and he didn't intend to let the challenge pass him by.

He went straight to Dr. Cuddy's office. He was familiar with the hospital- he'd recommended it to his relatives and as a result had visited many of them during various injuries and sicknesses in his family.

He nodded at the secretary, who let him in as soon as she caught sight of his name tag and doctor's coat.

"Ah, Dr. Yung," Cuddy greeted, smiling and standing up. She'd just hit send on the official report of House's hospitalization. It was very cut and dry, just the bare details- but she'd worded it in a way that was unmistakably favorable towards him and would arouse quite a few questions. "I'm glad you could make it."

Yung nodded politely. "Of course. I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

Cuddy recognized that look in his eye. It was the look House got when he was really challenged by something, when his brain was really working. Part joyful, part determined, and more than a little bit manic.

She decided it would be best to not wait to take Yung to him.

"Alright, follow me please. He just got out of the ICU, and is now in a private room."

Yung looked surprised. "Already?"

Cuddy smiled slightly, an edge to it. "Doctor House has his ways of being… persuasive."

They arrived in House's room just as House began on a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.

Chase arrived a moment later, having spotted Cuddy and followed her back. The room was getting a bit crowded now.

House blinked at the Asian doctor. "Yung. Meet my medical proxy, my surgeon and fellow, and my guitar," he introduced, gesturing to the three in question in turn.

Cuddy shot Wilson a look. He put his hands up in the air. She turned to Chase.

"He made me!" he exclaimed after a few moments of her intense scrutiny.

Cuddy couldn't help but giggle at his expression, even as she frowned at House. "Oh, Chase, it's fine. Calm down."

House didn't quite have the decency to look sheepish. He continued to play as Yung took a seat next to his bed, ignoring the nurses gathering in the hallway at the commotion. Cuddy closed the blinds, and the crowd dissipated.

"So, House," Yung began, pushing up his glasses. "How have the medications I prescribed to you been working out?"

House frowned a bit. "They're… how do I put this. They bring down the pain."

Yung stared at him patiently, waiting for details. Cuddy, Wilson, and Chase all leaned in as well.

House blinked at Chase. "Get me a coffee, slave," he demanded shortly.

Chase crossed his arms. "Why should I?"

"Because I'm your boss and I said so. Now go. And when you get back, wait outside the door until mommy and daddy are done talking."

Chase made a face, but relented, heading out. He hadn't really thought that House was going to let him in on it, but he couldn't help but hope.

When the door had shut again, House put down his guitar, giving Yung his full attention.

"It brings it down from a seven to about a five- if I'm not moving," he clarified, looking uncomfortable at being so upfront. "And I'm just talking about the leg. The rest of my body still feels horrible, and I'm sure that's messing up the readings."

"Have you noticed any side effects?"

House frowned. "I'm not sure if it's from the combination of the sedatives I'm on with the meds or just the sedatives or what, but I'm feeling more sluggish than usual."

Yung raised his eyebrows at him, and House went on. "You might not be able to notice, but I can. And I can't work on anything less than full brain power. And when I first took them, I was out like a light."

Yung nodded and scribbled something down on his chart. "They can take a while for your body to get used to. It doesn't surprise me that you're showing these initial side effects, but they will hopefully lessen with time."

He looked up and gazed at House, hoping to get an honest answer without too much fuss. "So, next question. Have you had any spasms since you started on the medication?"

House shook his head. "No, but really that's not weird. If I'm relaxed and not moving they usually don't just pop up on their own. It takes a catalyst. The only time I was moving was when we transferred rooms…"

He seemed to go off into thought, and Cuddy cleared her throat. House's attention snapped to her. "Anyway," he finished, "No, I haven't."

"I understand you have several other injuries that are affecting your pain balance at the moment," Yung offered, hoping to get House to expand on that.

House nodded slowly, then jerked his head at the chart at the foot of his bed. "It's all there- and Chase has probably got his ear on the door right now, if you want to talk to him."

Yung picked up the board and read through it, making sympathetic noises and wincing periodically. "Wow," he mused after a moment. "This… this really sucks."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," House said flatly. "What I want to know is what you plan on doing to help, when I can't really do anything until my ribs heal. No hard breathing, not exercise, nothing. Hurts too much."

Yung pursed his lips. "Obviously some of the PT is going to have to wait until they're healed, but I can give you some breathing exercises that will help keep your lungs healthy in the mean time."

He seemed to be considering something. "I'd recommend some exercises for your leg while the left on heals, but they aren't going to be pleasant," he explained briefly. "They'd be done by a coach, not with your own muscles. They'd move the leg for you, just to keep the muscle you've built up from atrophying."

Yung pushed up his glasses. "Frankly, it's going to hurt. A lot. And with the other pains you're experiencing, I wouldn't normally recommend it. But in this case, if you want to walk properly again, you're going to have to have to have at least half a leg to stand on."

House was already glaring at the ceiling. He'd tried the PT route, and he'd hated it. Looking into the faces of those doctors, listening to them tell him that _he could do it! _and _just five more! _. He'd wanted to kill them all the first day he'd gone. So he'd quit. And he'd gone home. And he'd fixed himself, with only Wilson to witness him in his less than glorious moments of vomiting and angry, frustrated tears.

But now, that wasn't an option. He couldn't just disappear for another year and re-teach himself to walk- Cuddy was to be considered. She wanted to see him better- hell, _Chase _apparently wanted to see him better. He was going to have to let go of his pride.

No, he couldn't just pack up and hide again. He would have to trust those around him- something he wasn't famous for doing.

Cuddy and Wilson sat their silently, holding their breath. They both knew what a monumental decision this was for House, and they didn't want to screw it up by saying something that would set him off.

"I…" he began, then hesitated. He sighed. "Okay. Fine."

Yung smiled, if somewhat grimly. Cuddy and Wilson let out a burst of air in tandem and smiled at House, knowing he was trying to change- not just for his benefit, but for theirs as well.

**Did I do okay? May I remind you that I have no medical expertise what so ever, so feel free to point out my mistakes if you wish, but know that I probably won't do anything about them. Sorry. Fiction. **


	23. Chapter 23

**Just an interlude. Next chapter, I swear I'll actually get back to the plot. Cross my heart and hope to... well... actually I want to live. So pinkie swear instead. **

_The ice was cold, bitingly so. It and the equally frosty water that surrounded it drove knives into his skin, small, screaming slivers of hell. Even his father's hand, which held his struggling son in the water, held no warmth. It was as icy and lifeless as the tub that held his torture device. _

_"Please! I'm sorry!" he cried, clawing at the sides of the tub, his legs heavy and useless and tangled up in his soaked blue jeans. "PLEASE!"_

_His father's icy blue eyes mirrored his son's in color, but the emotion that poured out of them was a high and mighty disgust that his son would never fully achieve. It was the gaze that a person would give to an ant crawling over their toe._

_Even if the ant had no intention of biting, it still got squashed. _

_The same was true of his son. His eyes held no real emotion as he held down his only child in freezing water, watching his lips turn blue before his eyes. _

_There was a hesitant knock at the door. The child's spirits soared, if only for a moment. His mother!_

_"John?" she asked, uncertain she really wanted an answer. "Is Greg in there with you?"_

_John House shoved his son's head under the water to keep him from crying out to his mother. "Are you done with dinner, Blythe?"_

_He said her name with none of the warmth that a husband should hold for his wife. _

_She was silent for a moment, then, "No."_

_"Then go!"_

_John waited for her footsteps to travel back down the stairs then let up his son. The child was gasping for breath, the world going from black to painfully white in an instant. The father got up, sending one last disgusted glance over his shoulder at his son._

_He left the bathroom, leaving Greg limply gasping in the ice water._

House sat bolt upright, a scream clawing its way out of his throat. Breathing; rapid and shallow. Muscles; tense and shaking. Hands; gripping the sheets in a death hold and turning white. Ribs were screaming- so was the leg.

Slowly, the room came into focus from its previous state of unknown that only came with a vivid dream. He didn't take as much comfort in his familiar surroundings as he would have in normal circumstances, seeing as how he was in a hospital.

He wasn't ten years old anymore. He was a grown man. This was a fact he had to keep repeating to himself.

A dry sob choked out of him. His hands flew up to cover his mouth, as if to punish it for betraying a sound of weakness. Despite his being aware that he was no longer in his father's clutches, he was still taking shuddering, rasping breaths to calm his heart down. It was killing his chest, yanking at the stitching there.

Something churned in his stomach, and he could tell he was about to be sick.

And then, there was a warm hand on the back of his neck. He jerked in surprise.

"Cuddy…" he breathed, not daring to look at her.

"Nightmare?"

House felt his stomach churn. "Basin," he said quickly. Cuddy held one in front of him instantly, and he emptied his stomach. That was the second time he'd vomited today.

Cuddy was at his side in an instant, her hands running through his hair as he gripped the bowl for dear life. When he'd finally finished, she gave him a plastic cup full of water.

He took it gratefully and rinsed out the nastiness in his mouth, hating the after-sting of bile in his esophagus.

When he'd finished, Cuddy hugged him tightly, sweaty mess and all. He returned it- arms clasping around her and holding on like she was the only thing he could depend on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked eventually, hoping against hope. Since they'd started the rehab, House had been having nightmares like this with more and more frequency. They were getting worse as the days passed, and Cuddy had finally decided to camp out in his room for a while. Neither of them were getting much sleep.

Cuddy had dropped Rachel off at her mother's house earlier that week. Rachel loved to visit "Gramma", and it took a big stressor off of Cuddy to have her being taken care of. She still visited during the day, and had so far avoided the pointed questions from her mother about what she was doing that was "so damn important".

House grunted noncommittally, and she resisted sighing. He still refused to speak about what these dreams were.

Earlier that day, she'd sat through one of his PT sessions with him. She'd wished she hadn't. It'd been horrible to watch him struggle through that, watch sweat run down his face while he struggled not to scream. The coach has been kind, but she'd still put strain on his bad leg by taking it through range of motion exercises. With the stiffness it'd been in prior to that, House had been in a lot of pain.

Thinking back to it now, she grimaced.

_She watched him silently from his bedside, gripping his hand as the coach gently moved his leg. She could see the strain on his face, quickly turning shock white at the slight movement the woman had started. _

_"This is going to hurt," she said, quite unnecessarily. It was already hurting, and House knew exactly what it was going to feel like. He'd done it before. _

_House closed his eyes and nodded shortly, giving her permission to bend the offending limb. She did so, slowly and as gently as possible, but from the look on House's face she could have been stabbing him. _

_He turned his face into the bed beside him, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. His grip on Cuddy's hand tightened until it was painful, but she didn't care. She was just glad she was there, this time, for him to grab onto. Last time, there had been only Wilson- Stacy had left him shortly before rehab had started. _

_Soon, the coach was past the point where he could keep silent. His leg was about half way bent before he choked, sounding like he'd begun to groan but had cut it off. _

_"I know, I know. It'll get better," the coach said encouragingly. Cuddy wanted to hit her. She knew it was what was best for House, but a protective side of her was ranting and raving, urging her to take out the person that was hurting her Greg. _

_When the leg was fully bent, the nurse held it for a moment to let the muscles slowly stretch. House was shaking, every muscle taunt. Sweat was dripping off of him. _

_The coach slowly lessened the pressure she was holding on his leg and let it bend back into a straight position. House gritted his teeth, tears pricking at his suddenly open eyes. Cuddy gently stroked his hair with her free hand. "You're okay, baby. You're okay."_

_House's eyes said otherwise, as did his stomach. "I'm going to vomit," he said flatly. _

_Luckily, the coach was quick on the uptake. She shoved a bowl under his chin and his wretched into it. Cuddy felt her heart ripping at the kind of pain it would take for him to actually throw up. _

_The woman did it twice more, and House shook through each one without a peep, holding his breath when it got too bad. Cuddy was with him all the way, her hand starting to go numb. _

_The coach knew when she'd reached his limit on that particular exercise, and she did a few more that were far less painful before leaving the hospital room. _

Cuddy let House lean against her, feeling him shiver. His sweat was making him cold.

"Come on, let's dry you off."

She stripped off his shirt, ignoring the lacerations and bruising. She gently toweled off his slick skin, replaced his sweat soaked scrub shirt with another, and leaned forward to kiss his shoulder.

House wrapped his arms around her silently, breathing still slightly erratic. She calmly stroked his back.

Without speaking, he scooted over as much as he was able and drew her into bed next to him. She curled into his side, carful not to touch his angry right leg. It had spasmed for the first time after taking the new meds today, reacting to the PT.

_It wasn't long after she'd left before House jerked, his hands going to his legs. In his haste, he forgot to let go of Cuddy's hand, and she momentarily felt the rock hard knot of his muscles before she could draw away. _

_He gritted his teeth in pain, whining ever so softly. As bad as the PT had been, this was infinitely worse. _

_Cuddy hated it. She wanted to keep him away from all this pain, but she was powerless to stop it. Much as she had that first night, she firmly massaged the angry tissue. He buried his face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder and took deep, shuddering breaths. _

_"F-fu... -ck," he grunted, voice so filled with agony that Cuddy choked back a whimper of her own. _

_Eventually it calmed, and House slumped back in exhaustion. "Well, the meds are helping. That was shorter than most."_

_That got Cuddy crying faster than anything else that day. The fact that he'd gone through far worse was enough to set off the waterworks. _

House latched onto Cuddy like a life line. He pressed up next to her, loving the feel of her warm body next to his, adoring the way his angles fit so perfectly into her curves.

"You might feel better if you talk about it," she murmured after a moments, sleepy sounding. She was tired suddenly – all the excess stress of the past few days was sucking away her energy.

House sounded wide awake, though. His mind continued to replay his dream, tormenting him.

"It was about John," he said flatly.

Cuddy froze, adrenaline suddenly pumping. He was talking about it. He was _talking about it. _This was good. She couldn't mess this up.

"I don't know, I guess the pain from the PT is making me dream more."

He was silent for a long moment, his mind churning. "Ice bath," he said after a moment. "Doesn't sound that bad, really. But it's hell. I hated that more than anything else he ever did to me."

Cuddy couldn't resist. "Why?"

House scoffed. "Because he was right there, in my face. Looking at me. Just… cold. Cold as the ice."

Cuddy felt fury burning in her. How could anyone do that to their child? "God damn mother fucking bastard," she hissed, tightening her grip on House.

He felt a surge of warmth inside of him, chasing away the lingering cold of the dream. There was something about Cuddy cussing _for_ him instead of _at _him that just made him feel wonderful.

He kissed her forehead.

Cuddy blinked in surprise. She hadn't exactly been expecting that reaction. "What was that for?"

"For being mad for me," he replied simply, and with that he fell silent and drifted off to sleep.

**That chapter nearly made me cry. And I wrote it. Sorry for dumping all that angst on you. **


	24. Chapter 24

**To be frank, I'm running out of motivation for this story. This chapter covers a lot of time in a little bit of space, mostly because I want to get to the hurt/comfort of House at home, and to progress his life with Cuddy and Rachel. This ensures that I'll keep working on it, so sorry if you were looking forward to the hospital stay.**

The next few weeks passed in a blur of sleep and pain for House. For Cuddy, it was an entirely different story. She still had a hospital to run and a child to take care of. She'd finally taken Rachel away from her mother to avoid the questions that wouldn't stop popping up, and the nanny could only do so much.

That meant that Rachel came to the hospital a lot more often. The nurses adored the sweet little girl, and made sure to tell her so every ten minutes, so she enjoyed it. But Cuddy hated exposing her child to all the pain and sadness in a hospital so early on.

She wasn't sure what to expect when she brought Rachel into House's room. House didn't look very good. If he wasn't undergoing a check up, eating, or doing the dreaded PT, he was sleeping. So when she held her daughter's hand and walked into the room, she wasn't surprised to see him picking unenthusiastically at a breakfast tray, Wilson watching him worriedly in the corner.

House had been spiraling deeper and deeper into a depression like state ever since he'd started PT. The added pain meant added nightmares, and the extra memories he was dealing with battled in his mind for attention, even when he was trying to focus on something else. Cuddy watched him as he became more withdrawn, sicker. Over the next few days, his color drained away, he lost weight. Every word seemed forced. He didn't turn on the TV, he didn't play his contraband guitar, he refused to see his team. Cuddy didn't know what to do.

She'd tried sparking his interest with a puzzle, once. She'd allowed the team to check in another patient, and had brought the file to House to try to cheer him up.

However, when she'd begun to read the symptoms, he'd closed his eyes and pressed his palms into the sockets.

"Not now, Cuddy," he mumbled. "Not now."

She'd trailed off, put the file down, and kissed him on the forehead. "Hey. It's okay, Greg. You're going to make this okay."

He hadn't responded, just turned his head into the bed and sighed.

* * *

Cuddy had eventually asked Wilson for his help when House had become nearly non-responsive.

"Wilson, I just don't know what to do!" she'd exclaimed, pacing his office. "He'll barely talk to me. The nurses tell me he'd been totally compliant, hasn't insulted one of them. Wilson…" Cuddy choked, sitting down on his couch. "I'm afraid."

Wilson had gotten up and patted her on the back gently. "He did the same thing after the infarction, you know."

Cuddy looked up, curious. She hadn't seen House in the direct aftermath. Wilson had taken time off of work and taken House home after Stacy left, and to be honest, Cuddy had been afraid to see him. She'd felt responsible – she still did. It'd been a mixture of fear and just plain being a coward that had kept her away.

Wilson shook his head, sitting down. House had had some very dark days in the aftermath of the infarction. Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he should really be telling Cuddy all of this.

He shook himself. Cuddy was _engaged _to the man. She deserved to know that House would come out of it, that he had before.

"I came home one day, after getting groceries," Wilson started, shuddering at the memory of it. "And he was just… gone. Vacant. Like his mind had shut off."

Wilson shuddered at the memory. "He wasn't angry anymore. He was just… empty. No emotion. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen," he told her honestly.

"For almost a week, he was just nonresponsive. He wouldn't get up out of bed, he wouldn't eat. He just… laid there. Staring."

Cuddy stared at him. "How'd you get him out of it?"

Wilson looked half sad, half proud. "I didn't."

"What do you mean, you didn't?"

"_I _didn't. House did."

Cuddy leaned forward, interested. "How?"

Wilson half laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not sure, to be honest with you. Just all of a sudden, in the middle of the day, he came back. He yelled for me to bring him some food."

Wilson chuckled. "Let me tell you, that was the fastest I've ever gotten something from McDonalds. House ate it, and from that moment on, he was trying to walk."

Cuddy shook her head. "What the hell made him come back?"

Wilson looked thoughtful. "You know, now that I think about it, it might have been… but wait, no. This is House we're talking about."

"What, Wilson? What were you going to say?"

"Well…" Wilson trailed off, looking out the window. "Earlier that day, I'd told him… well, I'd basically flat out told him that he couldn't just leave me here. That I needed him. That if… if he went, I'd go too."

Cuddy swallowed thickly, patting Wilson's back. "It was only about an hour later that he snapped out of it. I didn't even remember that until now…" he mused, shaking his head. "House is really something."

"That's putting it lightly," Cuddy murmured in return. Maybe, just maybe, all she needed to do to nip House's depression in the bud was to show him that he was needed. That all the pain he was going through, all the trials, had a purpose.

That's what made her bring Rachel in that morning. House seemed to have a special place in his heart for the girl – maybe if he saw her needs, he'd be more likely to return to them both.

* * *

She wasn't disappointed. Like a switch going on, his eyes lit up when they fell on Rachel.

Rachel pretty much sealed the deal by breaking away from her mother and running towards House, grabbing his (thankfully) uninjured left arm.

"Hows!" She yelled enthusiastically. "Hows, Hows!"

House was grinning madly in spite of himself, the first happy expression that had crossed his face since the PT had begun.

"Hey, kid," he replied, hugging her with one arm and messing up her hair. She was too short to see very far over the bed, so he looked down as much as he could.

"Hows! You better?"

House looked sad for a moment. "No, Rachel, not yet."

At her disappointed face, he ruffled her hair again. "But I'm getting there. I will be soon. Then I can come home with you and your mom."

Wilson was watching them open mouthed. He hadn't really seen House with Rachel before, and the man's easy, relaxed demeanor amazed him.

Rachel smiled at him. "You my daddy, Hows," she informed him spontaneously. "I figured it out."

It was House's turn to look shocked. "Uh…"

Cuddy was grinning, but also trying to keep herself from crying. House's face was totally open and tender in that moment – his emotions of shock, a bit of fear, and most of all, hope, were clear.

"Up," Rachel demanded, and before Cuddy could scold her, House pulled her one handed onto the bed. She snuggled in between the guard rail and him, hugging his side gently.

Wilson rubbed his eyes.

"Since you're my daddy," Rachel said, looking pleased with herself, "I'm calling you daddy. Right?"

House looked up at Wilson, triumph in his eyes. Wilson couldn't help but smile at his friend. "Okay, Rach. It's up to you."

Rachel looked just as smug as her daddy could. "_Daddy,_" she stressed, "can I pwease have your green jello?"

House laughed. A big, hearty laugh that made his chest ache – but he couldn't have cared less. "Sure, kid. You can always have my jello."

He handed her the unopened cup. She tugged at the cover, but her little hands didn't quite have the strength to open it.

House took it from her gently, opening it. He stuck his plastic spoon into the green goo and handed it back to her.

Wilson couldn't help it. He choked up. Before Cuddy even could, he was tearing up.

House looked up at him, then back to Rachel, then did a double take. "Wilson, what the hell?"

Wilson laughed through his tears, wiping them away. "That's the first time you've seemed alive in a while, House. It's just good to see."

House rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he was marveling. Rachel seemed to jump start his heart, kick him back into action. He'd known he'd been going – and he'd accepted it. But now, he had _his _little girl at his side. He couldn't blank out on her, leave her without a father figure. It wouldn't be fair. It seemed as though Rachel, little as she was, had put the fight back into him.

* * *

Cuddy could visibly see House's transformation over the next few days. He joked more, he smiled more. Even if it wasn't a lot by normal standards, it was a lot for House-standards.

His fellows noticed it even more. Finally allowed back into House's room, they were amazed at what they began to see. House… House was blooming. He was still sarcastic, still an ass. But when he smiled… it was a _real _smile, a smile that reached his eyes and made them warm.

Before long, he was ready to go home. The cast had been finished, his chest had healed to the point where all but the worst stitches could be taken out, and he'd grown used to the new medications.

He looked up quickly when Cuddy entered. "Here to spring me from this joint?" he half joked, but his eyes were eager. He was ready to be out of the hospital, ready to be home. Even though that meant a whole new list of trials.

Wilson was going to take the week off to help him out, much to House's displeasure. Cuddy and he had arranged it without consulting House, mostly because they knew he would refuse if given the choice. But, even though he was ready to go home, he was still going to need help. Cuddy would be there for him on the weekends and after work, but Wilson would be there during the day.

Cuddy smiled at him, also glad that he was going home. Not just because it made him happy, but also because he'd been terrorizing the staff. With the return of his spark came the return of his bite, and she'd already had to deal with piles of complaints and transfer requests from the nurses.

The one person House didn't have mean words for was Blue the janitor, and that didn't help Cuddy out much at all. In fact, she'd found them both having animated conversations about monster trucks or old rock music several times when the man was supposed to be working, or when House was supposed to be sleeping.

She put on her thinking face. "I don't know, Greg…" she said, trailing off as if deep in thought. "That nurse that you spattered with your lunch tray was pretty angry. She came into my office and got peas on my paperwork."

At his pleading look, she had to keep from smiling, keeping the firm look in place. When the nurse had stormed into her office, red in the face with bits of mashed potatoes in her hair, she'd had to struggle to keep a straight countenance.

"She deserved it!" he exclaimed, throwing off his sheets and stretching. He was still enjoying being able to do that without being reduced to a shaking mess, so he did it often.

"How could she possible have deserved _that?_" Cuddy asked good naturedly, handing him his release forms. He took them and scribbled his name in all the right places, hardly looking at them.

"She called me… sweetie…" he forced out, mock shuddering. "I'm assuming that was a new one?"

Cuddy fought to keep from smiling. "Actually," she said delicately, unfolding the wheelchair in the corner in a smooth motion, "I'd sent her up from the pediatrics ward. I was hoping she'd be able to deal with you, with all the experience she had with _difficult children._"

House merely grinned, unfazed by her scolding. "You're telling me no kid has ever dumped a tray full of food on her?"

"Most of the children are better behaved then you are," she shot back, just as Wilson entered with his briefcase and coat.

"Ready?" he asked, more as a greeting than anything else. He knew House was ready. He thought back to what House had told him just days ago. He blinked, remembering House's words.

* * *

"It's like the infarction again," House had said out of nowhere, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Wilson had put down his magazine, startled. "What?"

"Being here. It's like it all happened again."

"House…" Wilson said quietly. "It won't ever be that way again. Cuddy will _never _leave you the way Stacy did."

House closed his eyes. As usual, Wilson had seen through his bullshit and to the heart of the problem. "And why is that…?" he breathed, more to himself than anything.

"Because she loves you," Wilson supplied, knowing House needed an answer.

"Stacy loved me, Wilson. And I loved her. She just didn't love me broken."

Wilson was one of the few people that could have heard the pain in that statement, that could have known what it cost him to say it.

"Cuddy loves all of you," he replied, voice even, eyes fixed on House. "The good, the bad, and the limp."

* * *

Wilson shook himself, walking forward to help House unattach the monitor leads. Or, rather, shut of the frantically beeping machines, because House had already yanked everything off.

He had, however, stopped at the catheter. He lifted up the sheet and frowned downward.

"Yeah, that's not gonna be fun," Wilson stated flatly. "You want a nurse in here or do you want me to do it?"

House looked up at Cuddy mischievously, but she raised her hands and backed up. "Uh-uh, no way. Not for that."

He rolled his eyes but relented. Cuddy averted her eyes until the process was over.

She looked back to see House looking slightly green. "Okay. That was horrible. I much prefer it coming out when I'm unconscious."

Cuddy cocked her head. "What?"

House coughed. "Never mind. Wilson, let's get going."

Cuddy frowned, but let it go. She and Wilson carefully helped House into a sitting position, moving him as gently as possible until he was on the side of the bed with his legs dangling off.

House frowned at the bulky contraption holding his leg together. "This is going to suck."

Wilson sighed, silently agreeing. "Come on. On three. One… two…"

On three, he and Cuddy helped House transfer from the bed to the wheelchair as quickly and as painlessly as possible. However, House was still a bit shocky, his face paler than normal.

Trying to cover for his pain, Wilson spoke up. "You've really lost a lot of weight, House. I have more trouble moving my cat."

House shrugged, but Cuddy's stomach sunk. It was true. The weight he'd lost after Mayfield had far from come back during his stay at the hospital. He was skin and bones.

"Lucky for you," Wilson continued, "I've cooked a truckload of fattening stuff for you to eat during the week."

House rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy."

He gestured for them to walk out impatiently, pushing himself along behind him. He was tired already at the effort of rolling the wheels, but he'd be damned if he was going to let someone else push for him.

The nurses shot dagger eyes at him as he passed, and he took a moment to salute merrily at their scowling faces.

"You, House, are the only one on the planet that could make two entire floors of nurses hate you in one hospital stay."

House pretended to blush. "Oh, stop it, you. Don't flatter me, I'm blushing."

Chase, Foremen, and Taub were at the front door to see him off. House eyed them critically.

"Chase, you're in charge until I say otherwise," he barked. Chase's face lit up, while Foremen scowled. "You have my cell number. Don't come to my house unless you want a cane shoved up your… well, you get the point. Don't burn the house down, ducklings."

He rolled out the door, shooting over his shoulder – "Yes, that was a pun."

Cuddy grinned as she walked with him to the car, Wilson trailing behind to give them some privacy. "I'll see you at your place, babe," she said softly, thumbing his cheek.

House grinned, coming in for a kiss. He still had to talk to her about the whole, "let's find a house and move in together" thing, but there would be time for that later. When this damn cast was off his leg.

She leaned forward, kissing him long and soft. He returned the love with equal gentleness.

She broke apart, resting her forehead on his. "Love you."

"Love you, too," he breathed, and with that Cuddy was off, back to her other partner, the hospital.

**Next chapter is back into a normal time frame. Sorry for the long hiatus. **


	25. Chapter 25

**This story will be continued. I can't speak for the time in between chapters, though. Real life is kicking my ass. **

Wilson eyed the steps that led to House's apartment critically.

"Maybe we should just go to my place," he offered, knowing he would be denied, but having to voice the option anyway.

"No," House answered predictably, rolling back and forth slightly in the chair. It'd taken quite a bit of effort to get him out of the car. "I want _my _apartment."

"But how are we-"

"I'll walk, and you'll help me."

"House, you don't have any good legs right now."

"Don't you think I know that?" he demanded. "There are some crutches inside the hall closet. You know, you've seen them. It's three steps, Wilson, I'll manage."

Wilson sighed. "Fine, fine," he muttered, knowing that this was the first of many battles. You win some, you lose some… but with House, it seemed like he lost quite a few more than he won.

He was back in record timing with the crutches, still set at the tall height from the infarction era. Back then, House had moved from the wheelchair, to the crutches, to arm crutches, then to the cane. Wilson remembered the day that he'd put these in the back of the closet well.

House was sitting on the edge of the wheelchair, his eyes ablaze. He did like a challenge, after all, and this was a big one.

Wilson twisted his mouth, looking up the steps with his friend. "You're going to have to use your bad leg to get any leverage, House. I don't think that's a good idea."

House snorted. "Oh, well then, I guess I'll just stay here for the night. Oh, Wilson, is that snow?" he mocked, squinting off into the sky.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Maybe it'd be better if I just pulled the chair up from the back. It'll be bumpy, but it'd be done."

"Can't," House replied shortly, still looking at the sky with a curiously intent look on his face. "Your back."

Wilson's eyes widened. House had just denied assistance because it would have hurt Wilson.

Sometimes he forgot that House could be considerate, at least when it really mattered.

He watched his friend shakily push himself up on the crutches, his right leg hardly touching the ground. His arms were shaking, attempting to hold all of his weight.

"Just three steps," he puffed, seeming to be trying to pep himself up more than anything else. "Only three."

Wilson blinked, and he was on the first one. Despite the chilly air, sweat was dripping down his face. Wilson hurried forward, slipping under House to help support his weight.

Together, they hoisted him up the meager vertical distance to his front door. House held his own while Wilson rushed to the wheelchair, and soon he was sitting in it once more.

"Let's not do that again any time soon," he panted, leaning back and closing his eyes. Wilson had to agree.

Without waiting for House to protest, he wheeled him into the warm apartment himself. There was a thin layer of dust over everything from his stay at the hospital, but Wilson had come earlier to turn the heat and the electricity back on. He resolved to dust as soon as House was safely in bed.

"You want to sit on the couch for a while, or you want to go to bed?" Wilson asked, knowing it was important to let House feel like he was making some of the decisions. If he felt like he was being bossed around, he would sulk, and Wilson didn't need that right now.

House looked exhausted and defeated as he shook his head. "Just bed. I'm fine, Wilson. Go dust or something."

Wilson watched worriedly as House slowly wheeled himself into his bedroom, the door shutting firmly behind him. He listened closely for a few minutes, half expecting a crash to come through the door. None came, however, so he shook himself and set out to clean the apartment.

House lay in bed, his hands stretched over his head. It felt good to be back in his own room after such a long hospital stay, that was for sure. He felt pathetic for being so tired at such a short trip, but he also knew it was to be expected. Despite the therapy, his leg had weakened considerably, and the small steps he had taken had made it angry as hell.

And the weather certainly wasn't helping. He hadn't been kidding about the snow. He could feel a weather change coming, and coming fast, because the longer he sat still the more his leg ached.

Under normal circumstances, House would be up right now. He'd be limping around his living room in a well trodden path, trying to work out the dull ache in his mutilated limb. But right now, with his left leg broken, that wasn't an option. So he laid there, in too much pain to sleep, but not in enough to do anything about it.

He sighed, closing his eyes. This was going to be a _long _few weeks.

Hours later, Cuddy arrived in the apartment. Though she had a key, she knocked. The last thing she wanted was to walk in on an awkward situation and embarrass House. She knew he was a proud man, but with two non functioning limbs, he would need help with even the simplest tasks.

Her concern was unwarranted, however, because Wilson opened the door with a small smile a moment later. "He's asleep," he said quietly, moving back to let her in. "Has been since we got home. I was just about to wake him up for dinner."

Cuddy smiled, shedding her coat, gloves, and hat. It had begun snowing just as she'd left the hospital, and she was thankful she'd thought to bring gloves. "He's been okay? Pain wise, I mean."

Wilson shrugged. "He hasn't called me or anything, and the few times I checked on him he was dead to the world. I think he's okay."

Cuddy smiled at him. "I'll go wake him up."

Wilson nodded, disappearing into the kitchen. Cuddy walked down the hallway, relived. She'd been afraid that the weather would be affecting House, but it seemed that her concerns were needless. If he'd been sleeping…

Her unease flooded back ten fold when she pushed open his door. He was sitting up on the bed, shoulders tense. He was rubbing his leg in a practiced, efficient motion.

He looked up at her entrance, startled. "Cuddy."

She frowned at him, concern in her eyes. "The weather?"

He hesitated for a moment, and Cuddy felt her stomach sink. After all this time, he still didn't want to open up to her about his pain. But after that small hesitation, he jerked his head in the smallest nod possible.

She sighed, yanking a folding chair (likely in there from Wilson's last vigil) to sit in front of him. She took over the massage, rubbing at his scrubs at the exact angle he could not. He leaned back on the heels of his hands, closing his eyes and wincing slightly and blowing air out of his mouth.

"Is this helping?" she asked after a moment, concerned by his seeming unwillingness to speak.

He opened his eyes a sliver, blue poking out. "Yeah," he answered shortly, but she could hear the gratitude in it. His voice was tired, and Cuddy felt her heart ache for him.

She pressed her lips together. "Wilson seems to think that you've been sleeping soundly since you got home. Now, why would that be?"

House looked up the ceiling as if for a consult. "I may have neglected to tell him."

"Oh, and pretended to be sleeping when he checked on you?"

He twisted his mouth.

Not pausing in her rubbing, she sighed. "House, why didn't you just _tell _him…"

House mimicked her sigh mockingly. "Cuddy, why don't you just stop lecturing me for a minute…"

She continued the massage silently, and after a moment he relented. "There's nothing he could have done about it, Cuddy. The meds don't have any effect on this kind of pain."

Cuddy kept looking down, not wanting to betray her dismay. "So what, is it breakthrough pain?"

House shifted. "No. Not really. It's just this kind of… dull ache. And it builds and builds and it drives me insane. Normally I'd just pace until it went away, but with a broken leg…"

Cuddy nodded, silently amazed. This was the most she'd ever heard him open up about his pain, willingly anyway. She didn't want to screw it up by saying the wrong thing.

"It's just above the point where I can ignore it. So no, I haven't slept. But there's no point in bitching to Wilson about it, there isn't anything he can do. So better to just let him think I'm asleep."

His brutal honesty struck her. "House… that's both sweet and moronic."

He smiled slightly, and she saw satisfaction in there around the pain. She felt her heart grow warm at the sight of that small expression.

His hands on hers stopped her rubbing motion. His blue eyes took her breath away, and for the first time in a long time, an emotion other than pain was in them.

"Go eat, and I'll see you in a minute," he said quietly, and she took the dismissal for what it was. She got up from the chair and kissed him on the forehead gently.

House smiled slightly, watching Cuddy walk out the door. She was perfect, during times like this. Applying just the right combination of disapproval and concern to get on his good side. And his leg really was starting to feel better with her ministrations.

With a slightly less chagrined sigh than he might have had, he maneuvered himself into the wheelchair and went out to face Wilson, who would know he hadn't been sleeping the moment he saw him.

**If you have any suggestions, comments, plans to rule the world, etc, don't hesitate to review. **


	26. Chapter 26

**I'm baaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaack... Sorry I've been so irregular with the updates recently. I'll try to get one out once a week from now on.**

Wilson frowned when House finally made his way out of the bedroom. "You weren't sleeping."

House rolled his eyes. "Wow, you're like Sherlock Holmes or something."

His sarcasm was not unfounded. With the bags under his eyes and the slump in his posture, it was obvious that he'd been doing everything but resting.

Wilson twitched, looking extremely annoyed. "Why don't you just _tell _me what's going on? I could help you with this stuff…"

House scoffed. "No, you couldn't, and that's why I didn't tell you. Just stop mothering me, Wilson."

Wilson was annoyed with him, but he was also annoyed with himself. He should have made _sure _that House had been resting, and helped him if he wasn't. He couldn't count on House to ask for help - he'd learned long ago that his pride wouldn't allow him to. But it still bothered him to know that House was not quite willing to reach out to Wilson quite yet.

Meanwhile, Cuddy was watching the exchange silently from her seat at the table. She felt for Wilson, she really did, but sometimes it seemed like the man was more of a disapproving dad to House than a friend. And a disapproving dad was something House did _not _need. He'd had enough of that to last several lifetimes. She hoped Wilson would let it go, for now. She, too, wanted House to trust them enough to say something, even when they couldn't do anything but keep him company. But Wilson's disapproving looks were the wrong way to go about it - scolding House like a child would get them nowhere.

Thankfully, Wilson just dished out House's plate. He dropped it, but he was still clearly irritated. The silence in the room was awkward and Cuddy felt inclined to fix it.

"The hospital's quiet without you, House. Dare I say it, I think some of the nurses actually miss gossiping about you. Their main topic of entertainment is now gone."

Her plan worked. House grinned, the sparkle back in his eye. "Aren't I the charmer," he gushed, pretending to fan himself.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but Cuddy could see a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. It was times like these that she was glad that Wilson didn't usually hold grudges.

By the time dinner was over, they were all three back in good spirits. This had a lot to do with Wilson's good cooking and even more to do with the jokes House was cracking. The meal seemed to have distracted him from that ache in his leg - Cuddy only wished that someone had been there to do it sooner.

"And, I kid you not, this little kid turns to his mom and tells her to her face that she's lying – and lying is bad you know – and asked her how come she didn't tell the doctor that she wasn't really sick, but just wanted to skip work."

Wilson laughed heartily, as did Cuddy, at the image of an enraged and embarrassed mom and an amused House. "Kids," House chuckled, setting his fork down on his empty plate. "Never afraid to say exactly what they're thinking. Why do we grow out of that trait?"

Wilson looked him up and down, smirking. "Well, most of us do, anyway. You didn't, that's for sure."

House grinned right back. "I think it just came back with the teenage years, and never left me."

Wilson looked bemused. "Came back? What, you mean you were a decent human being for a while?"

Cuddy watched as the amusement trickled off of House's face, to be replaced by a fake smile that was covering up such a strong inner sadness that she was shocked Wilson didn't immediately start apologizing. "Yeah. You can have my dad to thank for that. He had the social norms beaten into me for a while."

Cuddy winced at the word choice, whilst Wilson looked puzzled. "I refuse to believe you were anything but a stubborn troublemaker throughout your childhood."

House's smile was gone now, replaced by an ill concealed anger. "Yeah, well. Too bad he's dead, or you could both laugh over how much of a little shit I was. I'm sure he'd agree with you."

Wilson blinked at the anger in House's words. "House, what's wrong?"

House gritted his teeth, looking away. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep," he seethed, and promptly rolled away from the table. The bedroom door slammed shut a moment later.

"What the hell?" Wilson wondered out loud, staring at the closed door. "What did I say?"

Cuddy shook her head, trying not to be angry with Wilson. He didn't know anything that House had so begrudgingly confessed to her, so he had no way of knowing that his remarks had been triggering. Cuddy, while he had been speaking, had resisted the urge to leap over the table and smother him, but now she almost wished she had.

Wilson looked at her plaintively, his eyebrows pushed together in concern. "I have no idea why he's so mad. What set him off?"

Cuddy swallowed. "I'll go talk to him."

* * *

And she did. She got up and walked into his room without knocking, sitting on the bed. He was laying on it, on his back. She'd never get over how self sufficient he was - even with no functioning legs, he still climbed in and out of that chair like a pro. His hands where behind his head, clenched together.

"He doesn't know, Greg."

House cocked his jaw, looking away. "I know. I'm not…"

He sighed. "I just didn't want to fucking think about it. And now I am."

Cuddy laid down and scooted over beside him, smiling slightly when his arms encircled her possessively.

"I wasn't kidding about the teenage years," he explained quietly, his chin in her hair. "Once I got old enough to be an actual challenge, I started fighting back. I never won, and I was punished even more, but I did fight it. With my actions and my words. I was probably about... fifteen, the first time I talked back. Got me a broken arm for the trouble."

Cuddy was silent, marveling at the strength it would have taken to act against John in such a manner.

"I think that I figured if I just kept pushing back, he'd eventually leave me alone. That he'd stop. The closest I ever came to that was when he didn't talk to me for a summer, just gave me orders by slipping them under the bedroom door in the morning. Best summer of my life. Of course, I screwed that up too by blowing him off once school started, trying to keep my grades up. That pushed it back right into its old cycle."

Cuddy nuzzled into his side, arching her neck to kiss his cheek. They lay in silence for a few minutes, both consumed in their thoughts.

"If you would just tell him," she suggested finally, breaking the silence, "He would know better than to push you like that."

House snorted. "And what? He'd psychoanalyze it to death. You know he would. 'Oh, House, you must be so screwed up because of_ him_', and 'Oh, that's just the abuse talking'," he mocked in a passable imitation of Wilson, bitter. "I'd just be feeding his need to be needed."

Cuddy elbowed him in the ribs lightly, and he grunted in surprise. "He's your best friend, House. He cares about you more than anyone else. He's not gonna change the way he sees you just because of this. All he wants to do is help you."

House sighed, his hand idly stroking Cuddy's stomach. "I don't want to," he admitted finally. "You know through necessity. Wilson doesn't need to know."

His tone was harsh, and it hurt Cuddy. As much as she hated to admit it, she was hurt every time he ignored her, pushed away her advice like an annoying fly. To her horror, she felt tears pricking at her eyes.

House was oblivious. "I just... I don't want to change things."

Cuddy was hit by a tidal wave of evidence to that fact, that House hated change. The changes in his life, it seemed, had all brought him pain. His leg. Stacey. Losing his original team, Kutner, Amber. Wilson's change towards him, that horrible four months where he had no one to rely on - not even her, because she didn't want a relationship with him at the time - then the hallucinations, Mayfeild. It seemed that the only change thus far in his life that had been for the better had been leaving his home, and, hopefully, beginning his life with her.

That did it. She felt the tears falling in earnest now. The weight of the problems House was facing was eating her alive, as was trying to find a solution for them.

He reached up and wiped away Cuddy's tears. "Cuddy... I'm sorry. I didn't mean too..."

She rolled over and buried her head in his chest, still crying. "I love you," she mumbled, the words distorted as she was pressed up against him.

The words surprised him. He'd expected anger, frustration at the level of insanity he'd dumped on her life. Instead, he was getting this. Love, in spite of everything he'd burdened her with. Not what he'd been anticipating.

"Love you, too," he sighed, looking down at her. And he did, too. He loved her more than anything in the world.

There was silence for a long few moments. "I don't want to tell him," he muttered finally, but it sounded weak, even to his own ears. He was breaking under Cuddy's gentle prodding in what she saw as the right direction.

Cuddy bit her lip. "I think he does, House. I think that you should share that with him. That's what being a friend is."

"Sharing painful, traumatic childhood memories? Sounds horrid. No wonder I have so few friends."

She refused to rise to the bait. "Wilson loves you House, and you love him. You two are like brothers. Sharing your hurts… that's what makes that bond stronger. He's not going to treat you any different."

House closed his eyes, thinking back. When he'd had the infarction, Wilson had spent the first few weeks, before Stacy had left, tiptoeing around him and treating him like a glass egg. But pretty soon, he'd learned that the best way to deal with House was to treat him as he always had, and House had been immeasurably relieved when Wilson had cracked a mean joke or laughed at him. It was normality, it was comforting. Hopefully, if he told Wilson like Cuddy wanted him too, he'd react the same way. House didn't like change, and letting out a secret he'd kept for so long was a huge one.

"I'll think about it," he muttered finally.

**Sorry for the shortness, but the next update shouldn't be long in coming. **


	27. Chapter 27

Wilson sat in the kitchen alone, thinking.

What had set House off? He'd started to get testy when they'd begun talking about kids and their manners. What button had he pushed to get House so riled up?

He'd called House stubborn, but he'd done that before. Sometimes in exasperation –

_"Christ House, you're so stubborn! Could you just _try _to see someone else's point of view for once in your life?"_

Sometimes in desperation, as he had during the infarction aftermath –

_"You're too stubborn to let this kill you, House. I know it hurts. I know. But you have to get up. You can't just lay there and die!"_

And sometimes, sometimes… he'd say it in hate –

_"You stubborn bastard! You aren't always right, you know? I can't stand to be around you sometimes."_

But this time, he'd just said it in passing. And who wouldn't think that House had been a stubborn kid? If he was a handful now, no doubt he'd been a little terror as a child.

But, what was it that he'd said? _"He had the social norms beaten into me for a while."_

So his dad had been the strict presence in his life. Well, that much Wilson knew, from what he remembered of the man. John House had been no nonsense, strict, and plain, the exact opposite of his kid. Wilson remembered thinking that maybe House had become who he was because he'd wanted to spite his military dad.

So, maybe, what Wilson had said had reminded House of his dad. Wilson knew that they had been tense at best, though he didn't know the full story. He'd certainly seemed to think that Wilson was echoing what he'd heard from John.

Wilson sighed. He hadn't meant it like that, not at all. House was so touchy sometimes. You could step on a land mine without ever knowing you were in a bomb field.

Someone coming up to the table pulled him out of his thoughts. Wilson looked up, surprised, to see House sitting in his wheelchair with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Look, House," he started, breaking the silence. "I don't know what I said, but sorry."

House didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were heavy with something that only he could feel.

Wilson reached out hesitantly. "House? You okay?"

He didn't react to Wilson's hand on his arm, instead choosing to look out the window at the cold, overcast night.

"John abused me."

The quiet words, forced out, froze Wilson in his tracks.

"He physically abused me. He made me sleep in the yard during the winter, during the rain, during the snow. He made me take ice baths when I didn't obey him."

Wilson's mouth dried up in shock.

"And do you know what his reasoning was?" House asked rhetorically, still not looking at Wilson. "I was stubborn. I was a troublemaker. I wasn't good enough, I'd never be good enough. I was a failure."

Wilson felt sick to his stomach. No wonder House had been mad.

"House… why didn't you tell me?"

House still refused to look at him. "Because you didn't need to know. Because I don't like to talk about it. Because it doesn't _change _anything."

Wilson suddenly flashed back to the funeral, to House's eulogy. _"I am who I am, for better or for worse, because of him."_

"So… why now?"

House sighed. "Cuddy."

Wilson couldn't help but feel vaguely hurt by the revelation that Cuddy had been told before he had.

House seemed to sense this, so he explained. "I didn't want to… to become a part of Rachel's life… without Cuddy knowing."

Wilson immediately felt vile for being jealous of such a thing. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "God. House, I didn't mean… I mean, I knew you two didn't get along, but…"

House looked at his lap. "I didn't want to say anything," he said stiffly, "Because I don't want our friendship to change. I don't want… your pity, or… for you to start… _rationalizing _my behavior with it…"

Wilson shook his head frantically, grabbing House's arm more tightly. "House, you have to know, I won't do that. I swear to God I won't."

House tapped hands on the table, and though his fingers were moving a mile a minute they made no sound.

Wilson spoke up. "He was wrong, though."

House finally, finally looked at him, his eyes so full of suppressed emotion that Wilson wanted to hug him. "You aren't a failure."

House scoffed. "Right. My life has just been a big long chick flick."

Wilson shook his head. "No, listen to me. You have succeeded, House. You've had your ups and downs – but we all have. Look around you, and tell me you haven't won something."

House had to admit, his life was better than it had been a year ago. He had Cuddy. He had Wilson. And though his leg was broken, he now had pain meds that might help that. He wasn't addicted to vicodin, he had fellows that respected him, and he had the best job on the planet. He had a little girl that was depending on him to be a dad and a fiancé.

"You're a brilliant doctor, the best in the world. That, you did without his help. You're gonna marry Cuddy. Without John. He's _dead, _House. There's nothing he can do to mess this up. This was all _you."_

House smiled faintly, feeling the conviction in Wilson's voice. He wasn't sure he believed him yet, but it was nice to hear it all the same.

"I should have told you a while back," House joked, breaking the somber atmosphere. "I could have gotten this pep talk a long time ago."

Wilson laughed, squeezing House's arm and then letting go. But House grabbed his hand, clasping it his own and giving it a firm squeeze.

"Thanks, Wilson."

Wilson squeezed right back. "You know I'm here for you. Always."

* * *

A few hours later, Wilson had gone for a grocery run and Cuddy and House had the flat to themselves. They were seated on the couch together, watching an old movie.

"So you told him," Cuddy said, trying to suppress a smile.

"Yep," House answered, clearly not wanting to talk about the subject.

"And how did he react?"

House rolled his eyes. "Pretty much exactly like you said he would."

Cuddy grinned outright. "Ha!"

He shoved her playfully, snorting. "Oh, shut up. I'm the smart one here."

"Please," she shot back. "I can match you toe to toe any day. I have to to keep you in line!"

House grinned, relaxing into the familiar banter. It had been too long in coming. "Oh, the royal lady speaks. And her subject shall listen," he taunted mockingly.

"If only. I swear, we've saved thousands by putting you out of work. Our lawyers are practically on vacation."

"I'll have to wake them up as soon as I get back," he said, eyes glinting in mirth.

They settled into a comfortable silence, Cuddy resting under his arm, their hands intertwined.

"We need a place," House said out of nowhere.

Cuddy blinked in surprise. "You mean… a house?"

"Yes, I mean a house. _Our _house. Not my apartment, not your place. Our."

Cuddy could hear the need, and vulnerability, in his voice. She knew this must have taken a lot for him to bring up – House was not one for touchy-feely.

She pondered for a long moment. Truth be told, she hadn't thought about it. With everything else going on, their home had been the last thing on her mind.

"Okay," she agreed, settling back down.

House looked at her sideways. "Okay? The Great Planner, Ms. Control-Freak, is just allowing me to uproot her from her lovely home?"

"My home… is… not lovely," she said slowly, trying to put her feelings into words. "It's… a necessity. It isn't me. It never was. It was just a place to sleep when I wasn't at the hospital."

House nodded slowly. "And then Rachel."

Cuddy sighed, smiling. "And then Rachel. She changed things, a little bit, but I still feel like I'm living in someone else's space."

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Getting a new one… I'm not attached to the one I've got, so no worries."

House smiled, a real, genuine smile.

"But what about you?" Cuddy asked, looking around his apartment. Every bit of it screamed House, from the guitars to the piano to the books on the shelves. He wasn't like her. His apartment – it was a home. His home. His refuge.

House shrugged, gazing around with her. "I've lived here with only my piano for company for too long," he replied, in a rare solemn tone. "Of course, Wilson was my roommate for a while, but I don't count that because he was so annoying. It was more like living with a rat infestation."

Cuddy knew he was teasing. No matter how much time Wilson spent prepping his hair, he was still House's best friend. She smiled softly.

"Anyway. I don't care about the apartment," he chuckled softly. "The land lady will be damned pleased to see me go. She can stop 'forgetting' to put salt on the ice every once in a while when I play my piano too late at night."

Cuddy winced, not seeing humor in that at all. A fall on his leg was serious, and from his tone he'd had a few.

"All I care about is having enough room for my guitars and piano," he said, gesturing to them. "Other than that… you'll be there. I don't care if you paint the damn house pink and orange, and get a forty-foot-long dining room table, as long as we have sex on it at least once a week."

She snorted, choking on her water. He patted her back firmly as she coughed, laughing his lewd little head off.

As soon as she could breathe again, she laughed right back and kissed him hard. "Promise?"

"Promise," he breathed, eyes glowing.

**Next chapter: lots and lots of inner thoughts from our favorite oncologist. Cheers. **


	28. Chapter 28

**The next chapter should come fairly quickly. For real this time. **

Wilson slowly shuffled up and down the aisles, cart wheels squeaking. He didn't really need to buy anything from the store – he'd already stocked up enough food to feed an army for a week. But, it was as good an excuse as any to get out of the apartment and find time to think.

He was still trying to digest what House had told him. John had abused him. Now that he knew, it wasn't hard to see. John had been a hard ass at the best of times, downright nasty at the worst. From what Wilson had known of him, he was all the bad parts of House magnified and set ablaze, plus a few more. Now, he knew, John had been so much worse than that.

Wilson shook his head. "How do you hurt a kid like that?" he wondered out loud, scanning the shelves distractedly. He'd never understood the psychology behind child abuse. Weren't you supposed to love your kid above everything else?

Though, House wasn't really John's son. Wilson wondered if John had known that from the start, or if he'd only found out once House had told him. Or if it even mattered, from John's point of view.

Wilson sighed. With all his psychoanalytic skill, he thought he had House pegged. But then House would turn around and change his whole view of him in one sentence.

Rubbing his neck, he thought back to the weeks after the infarction, when Stacey had left and he'd been trying to glue the broken pieces of House back together.

House had spent a lot of time sleeping, during those days. When he wasn't, he was in pain. Horrible pain. Wilson felt sick just thinking about it – he'd tried to move on from those memories, forget them all together if possible. But they'd stuck with him like glue.

He thought back to a particularly bad day – one of the worst.

House had been home alone for a few hours, when Wilson was out getting groceries (much like he was doing now). When he'd left the apartment, House was sleeping, doped up on pain medication and dead to the world. When he'd come back, however, House had been wide awake.

He knew that it was bad, really bad, when House was dead silent. If it was at a seven or an eight on the pain scale, House would be yelling and squirming on the bed, his heart rate and respiration rate too high to be safe. At a nine, he would incoherently scream into a pillow, shaking all over, his hands stark white against his leg.

This was a ten.

House had been making no noise, not a peep. He'd been curled up on the bed, his body in as much of a fetal position as his leg would allow, his entire being shaking hard like a leaf in the wind. His eyes were closed, but what had sent Wilson's stomach plunging to the depths were the long tear streaks staining his friend's face and the sheets.

Wilson had been frozen for a split second, a thousand thoughts running through his head. House didn't cry. House _didn't _cry. In all the years he'd known him, he's never seen even a hint of moisture in his friend's eyes. When the infarction had hit – there had been screaming, not crying. When Stacey had left, and he'd gotten that first hoarse call for his company in House's lonely apartment – no tears. Just a vacant, dead, soulless look; because the love of his life had taken first his leg, then his soul.

Now, though, House was crying. Not sobbing, not blubbering. Silent tears that were screaming in their own way.

After that second of heart stopping panic, Wilson had leaped into action and taken House's pulse; it had been well above safe levels, faster and threadier than he'd ever heard it. After that, he'd wasted no time in dosing House with enough painkillers to knock him out totally, and when he'd woken up, the pain had been back to a six and they'd never spoke of the ten. Still, to this day, neither of them had mentioned it.

It was the only time he'd ever seen House get to that point, and he hoped to never see it again. Hopefully, with his new cooperation with Yung and P.T., he'd have reduced pain levels. Wilson pushed back the surge of guilt at that thought – he'd ignored House's pain for far too long. He'd tried to forget it, when really, he should have been reminding himself of it daily.

The aftermath of the infarction was, in his opinion, the time when he'd gotten closest to House, when their friendship had become a tight bond. He'd taken care of him, there was no other way to put it. He'd helped him do everything from walk to the bathroom to getting dressed. House was a private and self sufficient man by nature, and the hardest part had been convincing him that he truly needed – and deserved – help.

He'd walked into the room one time to find House crumpled on the floor, just laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He'd fallen – Wilson could see that from the scattered items that had previously sat atop the side table. He'd tried to grab it and had lost his balance.

He'd offered his hand to help him up, but House had slapped it away and continued to lay there.

"Don't be stubborn," he'd said in frustration, tired and cranky from a long night spent at House's bedside, awake when his friend was awake to help him battle the pain. "Just let me help."

"I don't _want _your help," he'd growled back, trying futilely to push himself up off the floor. Stubborn, Wilson had thought, but really, it was House trying to fend for himself. It kind of made sense now, in light of what House had told him – he'd probably been taught all his life that accepting help from others was a weakness that wasn't allowed, that he had to do everything for himself. John was that way – he believed in self sufficiency and emotional fortitude and in disallowing love.

He'd ended up dragging House off the floor, against his will, and depositing his much to thin frame on the couch. A friendship with House – the infarction period especially – had also grown Wilson a spine, and he'd long since learned to ignore his friend's acid, hateful words while he was in pain, designed specifically to drive him away.

Everything with House during that time had been a battle. Even making him eat had become a daily war, one that Wilson had been in no way prepared to fight – but had fought anyway. It was then that he'd seen just how strong House could be, how hard he could push himself. When others would have given up, House strived forward.

Even the fact that he walked with a cane was a miracle. Everyone he'd talked to at the time had plainly told him that crutches were the best case scenario, that likely, House would never leave the wheelchair. That was not acceptable to House, especially after his parents had come to visit.

Wilson had come along to that particular lunch, driving his friend and helping him because he was still using the chair. Looking back, he should have realized that something was up with House's father. The man had been downright nasty when it came to his son and the wheelchair.

As soon as they'd gotten to the table, his father had stood up and shaken Wilson's hand. Then, he'd looked _down _on his son, not attempting to touch or greet him at all. House, by that point, had already looked on edge and tense.

Blythe had tried to keep everything pleasant, but by the time lunch was over, House's dad had been flat out nasty.

"You know, Greg," he'd said, tapping his fist in his hand, "You're really pretty lucky. I knew guys in the war who lost their whole leg – or both of them. You aren't so bad off. Do you really even need that chair?"

Wilson had been in shock at this point. He'd known that House and his dad hadn't gotten along – it was obvious from his friend's reluctance to attend the lunch in the first place. But to hear such callous, mean words from his dad… it was something Wilson didn't understand.

House's mouth had thinned into a small line, his hands shaking under the table. Wilson remembered being amazed that House hadn't lost it already, with all the thinly veiled comments concerning his weakness; but he'd been amazingly tolerant. Now that he knew why, the memory made him sick.

When they'd left the restaurant, House had sat in the car and said nothing the entire ride home. Wilson hadn't wanted to break the fragile silence, so he'd said nothing. When he'd tried to help House out of the car and into the apartment, House had shoved him away none to gently.

By this point, Wilson couldn't be angry. He remembered the pain he could see on House's face by even the smallest outing, and the emotional pain his dad was causing him.

"House," he'd said gently. "You need the help."

"No I don't," he'd snapped, snarling like a cornered dog. "Leave me alone."

Wilson had tried several more times to help House out of the car, but House pushed him away each time. Finally, he threw up his hands.

"House, you can't get out yourself!" he'd yelled, frustrated. "I know you don't want my help, but otherwise you're going to be sitting in this car all night long!"

House had crossed his arms over his chest, pressing his lips together in a hard line. "So be it."

Wilson had sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, he walked around to the other side of the car and hopped in, closing the door. He turned on the radio and leaned back.

House stared at him for a moment. "Go inside," he commanded after a moment.

"No."

"Wilson."

"_No, _House."

"James!"

Wilson opened his eyes and looked at House, taking in his frustrated, tense face. "I'm not going to leave you out here."

House flared his nostrils. Turning to the door, he shoved it open and then gripped the hood of the vehicle. Quick as a flash, Wilson was around to the other side, but House was already out. He was standing on one leg, shaking and holding himself up on the door like a drowning animal. "Get the c-chair," he commanded, teeth gritted together in concentration.

Wilson hurried to comply, pushing the chair behind House's shaking legs. He fell back into it, sweaty and trembling.

"That was stupid," Wilson said quietly, as he pushed House inside.

"I don't even need the chair," he'd quoted bitterly.

Wilson realized he'd been standing in the same spot for several minutes, and shook himself back into the present. That's when House's real depression had started – the period where he'd stopped eating, stopped _trying. _That had been the time that Wilson had feared House would even attempt suicide.

Luckily, House had been made of tougher stuff.

In no time, Wilson was back at the apartment with no groceries to show for his trip. House was definitely going to mock him.

He opened the door, walking in to find House and Cuddy asleep on the couch. Smiling, he gently shook Cuddy awake, careful to not disturb House.

"Hmm?" Cuddy asked, blinking awake. "Wilson? Oh, geeze, what time is it?"

Wilson shrugged. "Not too late. But I figured you needed to get Rachel from the nanny.

Cuddy nodded, stretching. "Thanks. I do. As soon as I get back you can go home, get some sleep yourself," she whispered. "I've already got Rachel's stuff packed for here so it shouldn't be too long."

Wilson nodded. When they'd discussed the plans for House's recovery period, they'd agreed that Wilson would spend the weekdays and nights over here, and have the weekend off while Cuddy and Rachel stayed over. "Okay."

Cuddy untangled herself from House, very gentle. She motioned Wilson into the hall.

"So, he told you, right?" she questioned, slightly louder once they were in the hall.

Wilson nodded. "Sorry I took off. I needed some time to think."

He sighed. "I don't know how I didn't see it before," he confessed. "I was thinking back to the days after the infarction… there were so many hints that I just totally missed. I even _met _his dad… It just never hit me."

Cuddy nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I know. If he hadn't of told me, I probably still wouldn't know."

She smiled briefly. "He brought up moving in together while you were gone. As in, getting a home. Together."

Wilson broke into a smile. "That's great! He's got too many bad memories in this apartment."

Cuddy frowned. "What do you mean? I was under the impression that this was his refuge from the Cuddy storm."

Wilson looked slightly pained, pushing back his hair. "Well… this is where he was after the infarction. He lived here with Stacy, for a long time. He had to teach himself to walk again in here."

Cuddy looked solemn as Wilson gazed at the door. "I don't think he'll be overly sad to get out of here."

Cuddy nodded.

Wilson smirked. "Apparently even the land lady hates him, so…"

Cuddy looked annoyed at this. "'Forgetting' to put salt on the ice? What a bitch."

"Well, House wasn't exactly the greatest tenant. He did like to play his instruments at odd hours of the morning."

Cuddy figured this was because he was awake and in pain, looking for a distraction, but she didn't want to open that can of worms with Wilson. "Well, I'll be having words with her when we find a new place."

Wilson grinned, thinking of Cuddy up against a defenseless landlady. "She'll never know what hit her."

"I'm going. See you in around thirty minutes."

Wilson nodded. "Bye, Cuddy. I'll try and have him in bed by the time you get here."

As Cuddy sauntered down the hall, Wilson thought to himself that House was one lucky man.

**Thanks to all the reviewers! Next chapter, we'll have some Rachel-House interaction. Yay, fluff!**


	29. Chapter 29

**So... this may have taken longer than I intended. Sorry. *Guiltily rubbing back of neck.***

Wilson shook House gently. He hated to wake him up – House needed every bit of sleep he could get. But he couldn't sleep on the couch. It'd be too hard on his legs.

"Hey. Come on."

House mumbled something, pushing Wilson off. "House…" Wilson muttered, sighing. "You have to get into a real bed."

"This's fine," he murmured, refusing to open his eyes.

"Get up before I dump you off the couch."

House's eyes finally cracked open. "That's no way to treat a double cripple," he muttered, stretching. He looked around blearily. "Where's Cuddy?"

"Went to go get Rachel."

House sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes. "Well then I'm definitely not going anywhere."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "She's bound to be asleep by the time Cuddy gets here. It's nearly nine."

House waved his hand at Wilson dismissively. "She'll be wide awake and sugared up. Cuddy had to hire a different nanny for today – Marina's sick. This new one probably gave Rachel a bunch of sugar and she'll be bouncing around like a jumping bean."

At the thought, he looked nervously around. "Put the cover down on my piano," he commanded suddenly. "Gently – gently!"

Wilson inched it down. "Do you need to hide your porn stash?" he half joked, even as he looked around for one.

House gave him a withering look. "Yes, I let my girlfriend come to my apartment without first hiding the porn."

Wilson grinned while House looked around for anything else breakable. "Move that," he demanded, pointing with his cane to his antique replica of a human skull and brain, "up there."

Wilson complied, setting it gently on the top of the bookshelf. He looked at the titles on the shelf while he was over there. "Sherlock Holmes?" he questioned, frowning at the green cover.

House shrugged. "It's not a book. It's a box."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, pulling it out. He opened it, but there was nothing inside.

"What was in here?" he asked, curious.

House looked suddenly uncomfortable.

Wilson realized he's stumbled onto something bigger than an empty box. "House. What was in there?"

House sighed, locking his hands behind his head and leaning back. What the hell. Why not tell Wilson another deep, dark secret. He could set his emotional record. "Morphine."

Wilson's eyes widened in shock. "You – what - ?"

"You notice how it's not there anymore?" House said acidly, looking away. He didn't want Wilson's lecture. The day he'd come back from Mayfield, he'd dumped it. It'd been one of the few stashes that Wilson hadn't found on his own.

Wilson felt slightly sick. "You were dosing yourself?" he asked quietly.

House was tense all over, his hand straying to his leg and staying there. "Not consistently," he replied. He was trying for honesty here. "Only when it got that bad."

Wilson said nothing, just standing their dumbly with an empty box in his hands.

"What was "that bad"?" he asked, his voice quivering. With the memories of the infarction still so fresh on his mind, House's pain was more vivid to him than at most times. He was not doubting his friend, not at all.

"A few weeks after you left…" House said, still not looking at Wilson, "I hit… a ten. Again."

Wilson leaned back like House had physically struck him.

"Only that time, you weren't there. So I started keeping it on hand."

House closed his eyes for a moment. His hand rubbed his leg. Pain had suddenly begun to spike from it – a mix of tense muscles and memories of pain had it acting up.

Wilson silently closed the book, placing it back on the shelf. He was proud of House for keeping it empty, but also sick at the fact that he'd had to use it in the first place.

"Okay."

He sat next to House on the couch, just touching his left leg. House looked at him sharply.

"No lecture? No, "House, how irresponsible of you to keep morphine around, I can't believe you?" House said bitterly, crossing the arm that wasn't holding his leg over his chest in a defensive manner.

Wilson was motionless. "I'm sorry I didn't help you. Why didn't you tell me, when it got that bad?"

House was slightly thrown. After a moment, he spurted out an answer. "And what would you have done if I had? You'd have had even more of your life taken up by me and my damn leg. And, if anything, all you would have done was give me morphine yourself. I can – could – do that on my own."

Wilson nodded. At times like this, Wilson was struck by just how unselfish House could be. Of course, he did it at the most self-harming of times, but still.

He clapped House on the back. "Thanks for telling me," he said earnestly. The fact that House had told him the truth about what had been in the book, or had even pointed out the box at all, was a flying leap in the right direction for him.

House grunted, but Wilson could see his tense form relax.

* * *

Cuddy tapped her foot, annoyed. This nanny was incompetent.

"So let me get this straight." She began irately. "You thought it was a good idea to give a three year old _Lucky Charms _at eight at night?"

The woman shrugged helplessly, shrinking under Cuddy's glare. Rachel, meanwhile, was streaking around the house like a squirrel on cocaine.

"She said she was hungry, and she'd already eaten, and I had some in the car…" the woman explained timidly, her hands out in a placating gesture.

Cuddy rubbed the bridge of her nose. No one could replace Marina, it seemed. She slapped some money in the woman's hand.

"Don't expect a call back," she stated, sending the woman out the door.

She looked at her child dejectedly. Rachel was rolling on the floor, making animal noises.

"Rachel, honey," she called, giving up to the inevitable. "We're going to spend the night somewhere."

Rachel stopped rolling around, running to her mother and clinging to her enthusiastically. "Daddy?" she questioned, looking up at her mom.

The word pulled at Cuddy's heart strings, and she smiled. "Yes, baby. For the whole weekend."

Rachel shrieked with enthusiasm, rushing to her room. "My toys!"

Cuddy rubbed her temples. "Okay, Rach. Only one backpack full though, alright?"

Not bothering to wait for the response she knew wouldn't be coming, she headed to her room to grab their bags. She may have _slightly _over-packed. She blew stray bangs off her forehead and looked, slightly concerned, at the suitcases littering the floor.

* * *

"Dang," House exclaimed as Cuddy pushed through the door with bags in tow. "You staying for the weekend or a month?"

Cuddy gave him an acid look. At that moment, Rachel burst into the room and launched herself onto the couch, hugging House tightly.

"Daddy!"

House grinned. "Hey, kid. You're all hyper, aren't you? I bet the nanny gave you some good stuff."

"Mawsh-mallow cereal!" she reported proudly, smiling widely.

House shot Wilson an "I-told-you-so" look, arching an eyebrow.

Wilson threw his hands up in the air, rolling his eyes. "I never win. Never."

He pushed himself off the couch to help Cuddy with the bags, dragging them to the bedroom while House and Rachel talked.

"I missed you, Daddy," Rachel was saying, her voice excited. "Pano?"

House messed up her hair, looking at the piano somewhat longingly. "I can't right now, Rachel. My legs are messed up and I can't press down the pedals. But I can play the guitar."

He reached over to one that was on a stand by the couch, strumming it gently. It was already in tune – this was the one he'd taken to the hospital.

"Rachel, go tell Uncle Wilson to come here," House told her, gesturing to the bedroom. He needed someone to plug in the amp to the wall – someone who wouldn't have to clamber into a wheelchair first.

"M'kay," Rachel agreed, and hopped off the couch, her little legs pumping to get her to back room.

"Uncle Wilson!" she yelled, easily loud enough for House and probably anyone in the hallway to hear. "Daddy want you."

Wilson appeared a moment later. "I can't leave you alone for a second, can I," he said, but his tone conveyed more than the words. He was looking at House in a deep, emotional way that House felt inclined to ignore, so he did.

"Plug in that amp for me, slave," he demanded, but Wilson shook his head.

"It's nine at night. Play the acoustic."

House whined. "But I have to _tune _that one…"

Despite his grumbling, he took the guitar that Wilson handed him and fiddled with it until it was making a satisfactory noise. "Rachel!"

Rachel came rushing back into the room, full speed. She careened around the table and launched herself onto the couch like she was going off a springboard, bouncing up and down.

"Rugrat, what should I play?" he asked, the question now familiar after the weeks spent in the hospital.

Rachel grinned. "Bad bone!"

Cuddy's voice suddenly pierced the living room from the back bedroom. "I know I did not just hear my three year old ask to hear _Bad to the Bone_!"

House grinned, and, instead of answering, played the opening riff.

"House!"

Rachel giggled at her parents bickering. "Bad bone! Bad bone!"

House laughed too, and Wilson didn't think he'd ever heard a happier sound than when House was truly open and blissful with Rachel. "Ah, kid, we better stop before your mom gets mad at me. What's another one?"

"Sweet child," Rachel replied after a pause, smiling with her finger in her mouth, laying down on the floor and looking at House upside down.

"Please tell me she means Guns and Roses," Wilson said hopefully, sitting down again.

House played the beginning of the song. "_She's got a smile that seems to me…_" he sang, and Rachel quickly joined in.

Cuddy was out of the bedroom almost immediately, watching the progression of the song from the hallway. A peppy song was becoming an improvised lullaby for Rachel, whose sugar rush was quickly coming to an end as she fell asleep. Drowsy, as the song came to a close, she curled up next to House and closed her eyes. House played the chorus a few more times, but he was looking at Cuddy, not at Rachel.

Wilson suddenly felt like he was intruding on a very private moment.

"Well, I'll see you later," he mumbled, but neither person left awake in the room heard him. He let himself out quietly.

* * *

Later that night, as House lay in bed next to Cuddy, she rolled over and smiled at him.

"What?" he grumbled, opening his eyes half way when he felt that he was being watched.

"You are the most…" she began, trailing off. "I don't even know what to make of you."

House cracked a smirk. "I have that effect on people."

Cuddy sighed contentedly. "You wanna go house hunting tomorrow?"

He mock-grimaced. "Sounds painful," he joked, referring to the pun.

She lightly flicked him in the chest. "You know what I mean, you jerk."

The smile faded from his face somewhat. "Are we going to be looking for wheelchair friendly homes?" he asked, sighing. "Because otherwise…"

Cuddy chose to think out her response carefully. "House… I think it might be a good idea."

House stiffened.

"You know that Yung suggested that you be in the chair on and off for a week each. It… well, it might be a good idea if we did. Go ahead and get a chair friendly house I mean."

House still looked incredibly defensive. Cuddy sighed.

"House. I want you around for as long as possible, alright? Will you please, _please…_"

House cocked his jaw, turning over. "Fine. We'll get a home for the crippled. Happy?"

Cuddy blinked hard, fighting frustrated tears. "You aren't crippled."

"I can't even walk!"

"For NOW!" she roared, suddenly pushed to her limit. "Your broken leg will HEAL! And when it does, you'll be walking like you always have! There's nothing wrong with getting a home that will be easy for you to get around! Admitting that you need help is not WEAKNESS, Greg! Getting a house that you'll be miserable and in pain in? That's stupidity!"

House refused to look at her, blinking hard. "I just don't want to give in."

Cuddy deflated, suddenly drained.

"It's not "giving in", House. It's just accepting some help. Please let me help."

House looked less than convinced, but he still relaxed. His tense muscles loosened slightly. "Okay."

"Okay," Cuddy repeated. However, she was far from relieved. House had reacted far worse than she'd expected. This was a bigger issue than she'd realized... and she knew it probably had origins all the way back to his childhood.

She tossed and turned all night, worrying.

**Ooh. Tense. If anyone was wondering, I haven't forgotten about mystery therapy woman... (hint, hint) **


	30. Chapter 30

House rolled back and forth in his wheelchair; an anxious movement. He was more uncomfortable than a cat in a dog pound.

Cuddy rested her hand on his shoulder. "It's the first one, alright? Relax."

House shrugged her hand off, rolling forward and into the door. Cuddy made a fist and stuffed her hands into her pockets, trying to stifle the urge to yell.

He'd been unpleasant all morning. Snappy with her, quiet with Rachel. His pride was being trampled on. Cuddy knew he hated to feel like he was crippled, hated to have his handicap so apparent to the outside world. He could shrug off the cane, but a wheelchair, and an entire home that was "handicap accessible", was not so easy to hide.

She saw where House was coming from. The home they were looking at looked like it was for… old people. House would never accept this.

Rachel didn't seem too fond of it either. She frowned at the wheelchair ramp up to the front door with distaste.

Cuddy sighed. Well, it was only the first of many, as she'd said. There would be better ones.

House had pretty much shut down on the way in, but Cuddy could see the 'NO' clear as day on his face when they reached the bathroom.

"I am _not _living in a home that has an old people tub," he spat, glaring at the bathtub. There was a small, water-tight door on the side that would make getting in and out easier, but that was taking it too far, apparently. A rail in the shower was as far as he would go.

Cuddy couldn't help but be of the same mind with him, though. "I'm getting a distinct 'old folks home' vibe from the place," she agreed.

* * *

Three hours later, they still hadn't found one that even made it to the "maybe" list. It seemed that, if you were looking for a "handicap accessible" home, you were stuck with cramped rooms, ugly chair lifts, and guardrails everywhere. Every home they'd looked at had made Cuddy _feel_ older – she could only imagine the effect it was having on House.

As House skulked around in the back bedroom, Cuddy approached the realtor. "Look," she demanded, hands on her hips. She was at her limit of patience. "These houses are, so far, crap. We're both doctors and we can afford better than this. Step it up, or we'll find somewhere else."

To credit the woman, she didn't even blink at Cuddy's hostile tone. She just smiled. "Well, I was planning on leaving this one as a last resort, but you've changed my mind. Let's go take a look."

The next house was better. Instead of an added in metal ramp, the walk – er, roll – to the front door was smooth concrete. There were beds of flowers already growing on either side, which Rachel seemed to immediately grow attached to. In a typical toddler fashion, she plucked one out of the dirt and handed it to her mother.

"Flower for mommy," she said happily, even as Cuddy forced out a smile and held it until Rachel turned around. She quickly tossed it back in the flowerbed before going into the house; it wasn't theirs yet, and they couldn't just willy-nilly rip out the shrubbery. She noticed House sniggering at her out of the corner of her eye, and she held her head high.

House seemed more at ease in this home already. There was much more space, a more open feeling. It had none of the cramped, old-folks sensation of the prior houses they'd looked at.

They slowly walked up and down the halls, both ignoring the chattering of the realtor. Cuddy was used to tuning out inane "sale" words as an administrator, and House simply ignored her because he didn't value her opinion.

"There's a study this way, and the third floor is an open loft," she was saying, and _that _caught House's attention. Third floor? As fast as he'd rolled in the door, he hadn't even noticed the size of the house. He scowled, thinking of the inevitable chairlift he'd be facing on the staircase. The steps to his apartment were bad enough – on bad days, he could hardly climb them. But two stair cases?

"The elevator is state of the art – the owners had it installed just last year."

House blinked. An elevator, he could deal with.

"Elevator?" Rachel questioned him, tugging on his shirt sleeve. Her brown eyes looked into his blue in confusion.

"Yeah, Rachel. An elevator. So I can get around better," he explained, knowing she was too little to understand. "I can't go up stairs very well."

Cuddy watched the pair of them carefully. It was amazing that House could go from bitter and angry with adults in one second and so gentle with Rachel in the next.

Rachel patted his leg softly, then stretched up and pecked him on the cheek. She wandered off before House had a chance to react.

Cuddy smiled softly at him as he rubbed his cheek, looking bewildered.

As Cuddy and the realtor wandered around the kitchen, House piled in the elevator. He wanted to see this "loft". The house was nice, and he did appreciate the elevator, but they really didn't need three floors. It was kind of ridiculous for a family of three to have a home with four bedrooms. He was used to the small spaces in his apartment, and the _largeness _of this home were making him wary.

When the doors opened, he changed his mind almost instantly. The top floor was a musician's dream. The previous owners had apparently been into their music, because the room was paneled to be soundproof. The floor was a dark brown wood, the walls deep red.

He rolled in, looking around. There was a separate door adjacent to the elevator, and he opened it, curious. Inside was what looked like the beginnings of a home library. Three of the walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. The back wall had a window and a loveseat. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of the old books that had just recently been moved out.

Okay. He liked the house.

When he got back downstairs, already intent on arguing to buy with Cuddy, he was pleasantly surprised.

"House, I love it," she said as soon as the realtor was out of earshot. "The kitchen is wonderful, and the master bedroom is huge – the _shower_ is huge! And there's a study down here that's perfect for me, and – "

House cut her off, waving his hand. "And it's handicap accessible."

Cuddy's face fell. She immediately jumped to the conclusion that he didn't want it. It was the way he'd been acting all day long.

"I want it too," he said finally, letting her off the hook. Her face lit up. "The loft upstairs is a perfect music room. And there's a home library."

Cuddy threw a fist up into the air. "It only took a day!"

House smiled at her. He was finally starting to ease up from a day of having his pride trampled on. "Sure you don't want to keep looking?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No. This is the best one the realtor had to offer – I told her to step it up or we'd find somewhere else to look. There's nothing better, I guarantee you."

House grinned at her. "With all the delicacy of a bull in a china cabinet. My woman."

Cuddy smiled at him. The bad mood that had been clouding around him all day seemed to have lifted somewhat. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat next to him, grabbing his hand.

"I know you don't like the idea of it," she said eventually, no need to clarify what she was talking about. House looked away, slightly angry, slightly ashamed. "But I'm glad you cared enough about me to go along with it anyway."

House looked at her in surprise, silent. He was used to her smashing her way through anything with that hard head of hers – Cuddy wasn't one to take no for an answer.

He didn't like to admit that he needed help, but the truth was, he did. When he'd moved in to his apartment, his leg had been whole. When the infarction had happened, he'd refused to move. He hadn't cared about the steps, hadn't cared that the place was too small to maneuver a wheelchair, hadn't cared that he'd fall and slip. He'd installed a handrail in the shower and had left it at that – and only when he'd fallen for the third time and Wilson had all but screwed it in himself.

The truth was, he'd needed a home like this before he and Cuddy had even started dating. But he hadn't been able to make himself do it. However, the needs of her, and of Rachel, were now becoming more important than his pride.

It suddenly hit him what a jerk he'd been being all day long. Cuddy just wanted him comfortable, he knew that. She'd made that clear when she'd taken him to the CPC. He knew he'd been pushing her attempts to make his life easier away – he did so constantly, with everyone.

"I was kind of an ass today," he admitted.

Cuddy was silent for a moment. She hated it when they weren't comfortable together. Bantering was one thing, but the hostility they'd been throwing back and forth today had stressed her out.

"I don't really blame you," she said slowly, after a long minute. "I mean, don't get me wrong. It doesn't feel very good when you're throwing my attempts to help you in my face."

House winced, but Cuddy continued on. "But I also know that it's hard to let go of your pride, sometimes, even when the other person is right."

House looked away. "Well, you know me. Hell bent on being right."

Cuddy sighed, taking his hand. She pressed it to her forehead absently.

"I think…" she began, steeling herself for the incoming argument. "House, these things, they aren't healthy. They're issues that we need to work through. Not just for us, but for Rachel too."

House was surprisingly silent. Cuddy continued on, extremely conscious of his pulse. "Maybe some therapy."

She stiffened in anticipation of his utter denial.

"Yeah."

His soft reply rocked her world. She looked up at him in shock. "What?"

House smiled at her thinly. He knew she'd been expecting a world war even _mentioning_ the _word _therapy.

"I…" he huffed. "During Mayfield… not everything was bad. The detox was hell, yeah, but the therapy…"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Nolan, he was… good. I've never liked psychology, you know that. But he truly made it into a science for me. Made it into something believable. We didn't get through everything, but we did get through a lot. And… it helped. It helped me," he repeated, looking as though he very much wished he didn't have to admit it.

Cuddy squeezed his hand. "I'm glad that you _let _him help you, House."

House nodded. It wasn't so much that he'd wanted the help somewhere inside, subconsciously, though that was part of it. It'd been that stunning, in his face example of how badly he could hurt people without even knowing that he was doing so. Sending his fellow patient jumping off a roof – that had been a wake up call.

He never wanted to go back to that life. He never wanted to hurt Rachel or Cuddy or Wilson or _anyone _that badly, _ever _again.

So, if Cuddy wanted some therapy, he only owed it to her to comply. He was amazed she hadn't brought it up sooner, honestly.

House took a deep breath and blew it out of his nose. "Well, let's get the paperwork and blow this joint."

**Whew. Update gap of the century, sorry guys. But real life, man... that's what I'm having to prioritize right now. So, updates will not be coming very fast, just warning you. I do apologize for driving many of you insane with the update times, but I'mma be honest... a 48 in Pre Calculus is going to get more attention than Fanfiction. Sorry. **


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